Moving Heaven and Earth
by Eagle32nd
Summary: Chris and Rita are looking forward to a very light work week until the discovery of a dead body messes that up. In the Silk Stalkings canon, this story fits in the second half of Season 3, after "Judas Kiss".
1. Monday

Chris walked through the doors of the precinct, carrying a box of donuts.

"Morning, Sam. Breakfast is served."

"Good morning, Christopher," came the reply.

Setting the box by the coffee pot, he stopped to brush the remnants of an early-Monday-morning rain shower from his coat and hair, then took two jelly-filled donuts from the box, grabbed a couple of napkins, and set one of each on Rita's desk.

"Here you go. I'm pretty sure this makes up for Saturday night," he said with a wink.

"Thanks! Actually?...yeah, not even close," Rita replied, looking up from the papers on her desk and laughing. "I'm not sure, but I may never again accept any invitation from you that includes a ride in that car."

Their dinner the night before last had begun with Chris showing up at her apartment, in a coat and tie, to take her to the Seafood Bar. It ended twenty minutes later on the side of the road, with no power and a dead battery, courtesy of a failed alternator. And apparently, the towing company was really backed up, because the 'twenty-to-thirty-minute wait' stretched to nearly two hours. But the best part was the tow-truck driver, a greasy guy named Corey who smelled a little funny and couldn't stop talking about how his girlfriend had kept him up the previous night. His constant glances at Rita, who was wearing a beautiful ruby-red dress and was sandwiched between the two of them, were not only a bit awkward, but caused Corey to miss turns twice. In the end, the two partners ordered Chinese delivery and spent the evening in sweats in front of her TV.

"Come on, was it really that bad?" Chris teased. "Corey gave me a business card - I have it right here and I'm sure he'd love for you to have it." He laughed as he reached for his wallet.

"Uh, you keep it. I am positive my car won't need towed any time soon. As long as you have that classic, you and Corey will be going steady."

"Remember the girlfriend he couldn't stop talking about? He's already taken." Chris walked behind her chair, bent down, and whispered, "Thanks for letting me use your couch Saturday night, and for the ride home yesterday. I really appreciate it. My car should be fixed sometime today."

"You're welcome, partner...and that car will never be fixed. So who gave you a lift this morning?" Rita rather hoped she had pulled the duty, despite the extra time and distance it involved.

"That would be me," said a voice belonging to Officer Adams, who had a condo a mile from Chris. "He lives just a little out of my way."

Chris topped off Rita's coffee mug, then poured himself a cup, sat down, and let out a muffled "mmm" with the first bite of his donut. He pushed the power button on his laptop and looked at his pile of case folders, which due to a recent lull in activity, was down to just one. The Jensen double homicide was the only open case right now, and with the discovery of Stephen Wilson's revolver on Friday, it was going to be history before too long. It wasn't even nine in the morning, and this was already shaping up to be a week of twirling pencils, cleaning up cold-case paperwork, and extended lunches.

Rita looked across at Chris and said, "I have my information all documented for Jensen, so when yours is completed, I'll compile it for Donovan."

"I have a couple things to update as well and then I'm done," Chris replied, as he logged in to his machine. He looked across the desk. "You did great work - as usual - on this one. Finding his .38 in that secret compartment under the driver's seat was a stroke of genius. Wilson watched his alibi crumble in front of his eyes, and I think we've handed George a Murder One."

Thanks to the light workload, their morning meeting with Harry lasted less than fifteen minutes. By ten thirty, Chris had polished off the Jensen file and was driving his partner crazy. The rain had passed and while there were still spotty clouds, conditions had dried enough for an outside lunch. George caught up with Chris as they ate and was ecstatic with their work on the case.

"It's like a sauna out here! The humidity must be near 100%," George said as he put his food on the opposite side of the table and sat down. "Hey, that gun has pretty much made my case against Wilson. We had a crap-shoot with circumstantial evidence until you found it. Now I've got his lawyer calling me, all but begging for a plea deal." He looked at the clearing sky with a broad smile. "Yeah, it's a great day to be me!"

"You can thank Rita for the .38, George. She found it." Chris squinted, burger in hand, and asked, "So, any chance he pleads down?" Chris' concern was obvious. He and Rita had worked with Donovan for years and found him to be simultaneously tough and fair, but the District Attorney's office could really gum things up when it chose to. Wheeling and dealing was common on that side of law enforcement.

Donovan's response caused any skepticism to evaporate, despite the sticky Palm Beach air. "Don't be ridiculous, Lorenzo!", he said, frowning at Chris for a moment before softening to a half-grin. "Stephen Wilson had a well-established history with the Jensens. A B-and-E charge eight years back trying to steal that fancy diamond necklace of Edna's, A-D-W three years ago that was somehow reduced to a simple assault, and numerous minor altercations with Roger. This time, he went to their home angry, tried to go three rounds with Roger again, and got the crap beat out of him, which is what you should expect when you pick a fight with an ex-Marine. Now with your little discovery, we know Wilson responded to his TKO by losing his mind, putting five slugs into Roger, and killing Edna with a sixth through her chest on the way out the door. I saw the crime scene and it was grotesque! I'm tempted to go for Murder One on this, but Murder Two times two is an easy win with 'life and no parole' on the docket. I have to say, you kids made this one easy."

"We make them all easy, George," Rita said, smiling and putting on her sunglasses as the last of the clouds drifted away.

"You make some of them manageable," he corrected with a laugh. "The rest are just my expertise making up for your shortcomings." He took a quick peek at his watch, grabbed what was left of his chili dog, and stood up to leave. "Look, I'm due back in chambers in twenty minutes, and if I stay out here any longer, I'm going to need a shower. Seriously, you both did a great job on this one. I probably don't say thank you enough, so thank you! Stephen Wilson won't take another breath as a free man."

Rita turned to Chris as George headed off. "Well, if I didn't know any better, I'd say Donovan likes us." Looking up at the sky, she added, "It's turned into a beautiful day, and our number of open cases just dropped to zero. What are we going to do all afternoon?"

"Hold that thought," Chris said, raising a finger and reaching for his phone, which had started ringing. "Yeah, Sergeant Lorenzo...great! How much?...really?...ok, thanks for putting it together so quickly...bye." Looking at Rita, he asked, "How would you like to drive me to pick up my car? It's ready to go and a lift would probably guarantee you another shot at the Seafood Bar."

"Excellent! That pretty much guarantees me a second date with Corey-the-tow-truck-man. You know he will expect me to show a bit more leg and kiss him when the date ends. You going to kiss him, too, Sam?"

"Probably with some tongue," Chris replied, again flashing that blistering smile, and getting a "You're disgusting!" in response. He got up and tossed the last of his fries in her direction.

Rita drove Chris to the mechanic to get his car and, with his credit card $350 heavier, he headed back to the station. Harry had just returned from a late lunch and was feeling good, having eaten a cheeseburger and fries instead of the usual salad that Fran preferred. It took only a few minutes to convince him to give his homicide team the rest of the day off, and by two thirty, they were in the middle of an eight-mile run along the beach.

"You got any plans for tonight, Sergeant Lance?" Chris asked as he tried to catch his breath in their cool-down walk.

Rita smiled and answered with a question of her own. "Nope. What do you have in mind, Sergeant Lorenzo?"

"Well, I was thinking a shower, because you smell terrible, and then some kind of dinner...you pick and I'll pay."

"You should talk, Stink Boy!" Rita thought for a moment and said, "How about something simple, like pizza and a movie at your place...that sound alright?"

Chris didn't even need a moment. "Absolutely! You can shower first - you need to!"

When Rita finished getting cleaned up and dressed, Chris jumped in the shower. As he lathered his hair, he thought he could hear Rita on the phone with the pizza place...just keep the weird stuff off my half, he thought to himself. When he walked to his closet to dress, she came halfway up the stairs, and he could see she had changed out of her casual clothes and was wearing the one work outfit she kept at his place.

"The pizza didn't get ordered, Sam. Sorry, but we're back on duty. We have a customer cooling down over on Middle Road. I made us sandwiches and filched two Cokes from your fridge to have on the way. We can take my car until you can build up a bit more trust in yours. And grab your nose plugs - Diana says it's a brown banana."

"Middle Road? Wow! That area looks at million-dollar homes in the rearview mirror!" Chris had only driven past once or twice, but he knew it had some impressive real estate. "I'll be ready in ten, and thanks for the sandwich."

Rita's voice came back. "Yeah, they might live a lot differently over there, but they die just the same as anybody else."

The sun had nearly set when they arrived. The home was a palatial, two-story Mediterranean-style mansion that looked to be well over ten thousand square feet. One garage door was open, showing the tail end of a beautiful steel-gray Porsche 911, with the outline of an early-70s Camaro just visible in the shadow of one of the other five stalls. An S-Class Mercedes sedan sat in the driveway, along with a couple of Palm Beach police cruisers and the coroner's car.

A walk through the entry revealed opulence reserved only for the super-rich, and the faint odor of decaying flesh. Rita turned to Chris with a wrinkled nose and said, "Whew! She wasn't joking. Depending on where the body is located, this could be a pretty ripe scene."

"You're not kidding." Chris shook his head, as if to ward off the odor. "Let's find Diana and get this over with."

They walked into the master bedroom and Rita retched, covering her mouth and trying to hold her breath to keep the vomiting at bay. Chris' eyes got wide and he coughed several times. "God have mercy," was all he could manage as he choked. The stench was overwhelming. The body was lying on the bed in a pool of dried blood and gore. Diana turned and faced them. "This one's pretty gruesome and it's been festering for a while. Sergeants, meet Matias Garcia. His license was in his wallet on the dresser, along with several credit cards and three thousand dollars in a money clip. Hispanic male, forty-two, six foot two, two ten or so...well built and still in his pajamas. I'm guessing he died three days ago, give or take, so the Friday-night-Saturday-morning time frame. There are eggs around the eyes and mouth as well as both entrance and exit wounds. The maggots will be feeding in earnest in another day, so we need to get him - what's left of him - to the cooler quickly."

Chris covered his nose and checked the body. "We have a gunshot in the middle of his forehead and another through his heart - heavy caliber." He gingerly rolled the body over a bit, exposing the victim's backside, or what was left of it. He had to put his hand over his mouth. "Wow, this is nasty! These aren't exit wounds, they're exit tunnels...definitely large bore - .357 or a .45 and I'm guessing shredders for slugs. Ewwff! Our shooter wanted him dead badly. Two words come to mind - 'closed' and 'casket'."

Diana nodded in agreement. "There's nothing to speak of on the wall behind him, so he took this lying down."

Chris looked at the dresser and the cash. "Clearly not a robbery. It has the marks of an execution."

Rita, who had been speaking with one of the officers, walked over and joined them. "The 9-1-1 call was placed by the groundskeeper, who makes regular visits to the estate. He entered the house this afternoon to check the sprinkler timers, noticed the smell, got suspicious, and made the call. The officers are dusting for prints now. The alarm system was disabled and we have no sign of a break-in. The stench might be masking the odor of a pro hit, but it's here. The killer, or killers, did their job and left...so far, without a trace. But maybe we'll lift a print."

She looked over the corpse herself and added, "Hmmm...big-bore...maybe a statement killing. Officers have conducted initial interviews of the neighbors and no one remembers hearing or seeing anything unusual. Possibly a silencer. But a weekend killing means many of these people were on their yachts or at parties." She looked at Chris. "You and I should probably plan on speaking to them again. This one's not getting off to a great start."

Diana shook her head in agreement. "I'll try to help a bit. I'll get him on the table and see what else I turn up, though cause-of-death doesn't look too mysterious. Expect a preliminary report sometime tomorrow afternoon. It's getting late and I can't do more here. I need fresh air badly! Ok, guys," she said, turning to the officers next to her, "Let's bag him and drag him to the cave."

Chris and Rita spent a couple more hours studying the bedroom and talking with the photographers before walking outside. "We need to come back in the daylight to walk the estate grounds and interview the neighbors. I'm beat and all I smell now is dead guy!"

Chris looked at his watch and then his partner. "Same here. Look, it's nearly eleven. By the time we get to my place and you drive home, it will be really late. You want to just crash in my bed? I'll take the couch and you'll buy a couple extra hours of sleep."

"You know, that sounds great. Thank you!" Rita was rubbing her neck. "You alright with me using your shower again? I need to wash the stink off me!"

By the time Chris had showered and thrown on some shorts, Rita was sleeping soundly. He tossed their outfits in the washing machine - she would need hers in the morning - and set his alarm for six to put everything in the dryer. He walked over to the bed and looked at Rita, his partner and best friend, then whispered, "Good night, Sam. Sleep well." He grabbed his extra pillow from the other side of the bed and a blanket from the shelf and headed down to the sofa. He was asleep almost as soon as he was off his feet.


	2. Tuesday

Chris felt his body drifting into sleep and woke with a start, jerking his head upwards. He rubbed his eyes and looked across the desk at Rita, who was watching him and smiling in sympathy with his plight. It wasn't even nine o'clock - this was going to be a rough morning. His partner was exhausted as well, a terrifying dream suddenly waking her at three thirty in the morning. All the details had completely vanished from her memory, leaving only a lingering sense of intense fear and cheeks wet from tears. Getting back to sleep had been impossible. She thought about going downstairs to sit with Chris and maybe talk to him, but she resisted the urge, not wanting to disturb his rest.

"Late nights make for difficult mornings, and the coffee doesn't always help." She got up, walked over, and started rubbing his neck and shoulders while speaking quietly. "I so appreciate you, Sam. Thank you for giving up your bed, and for washing my clothes, and ironing my jacket, and for breakfast. That was very sweet." Chris just sighed his satisfaction as her thumbs worked up his neck.

Harry walked through the doors with a loud "Good morning!" to no one in general and paused at Chris' desk. "When you two are finished with your play date, could you stop in for a chat? Lance, you may think there's a good reason to have your hands all over Lorenzo, but I don't." He smiled and turned toward his office.

"Captain Lipschitz," Rita spoke in a slow, sexy voice while wrapping her arms around Chris' neck, "I happen to think that spending a mostly sleepless night in Sergeant Lorenzo's bed is reason enough..."

Chris snapped out of his bleary, sleep-deprived haze, eyes wide open, and conversation around the office ceased. All attention focused on Harry, who had stopped in his tracks, turned, and fixed his gaze on the two detectives. Dipping his head with arms folded and looking over the top of his glasses, he watched Rita return his stare with a seductive smile and then plant a soft kiss on her partner's neck, which turned as red as the rest of his face. A couple of gasps and a low whistle perforated the silence, before Rita straightened up, pointed to her boss, and whispered, "Gotcha!"

Laughter and cheers erupted from the room, along with scattered clapping. Harry rolled his eyes, shook his head, and mumbled, "You had better be kidding," as he turned back to his office. A couple of officers came over and gave Chris claps on the back, clearly envious of the joke his partner played. There was little doubt the account of Rita's actions would work its way through the building. More than one woman would secretly wish she was in Rita's place, and not a few men would be jealous of Lorenzo.

It took Chris a few minutes to collect his wits. The joke was hilarious - if a bit embarrassing - and he had laughed with the rest, but it really messed him up inside. She was so beautiful, and smelled fantastic. When she spoke in that husky voice, it was spellbinding. When she kissed his neck...and seeing her sleeping so peacefully in his bed last night...and...and...and... Chris headed for the restroom, where he splashed some cold water on his face and spoke to the dripping reflection. "She is incredible, but she's your partner. Get a grip on yourself!" He splashed his face again, dried off, and tried to resume a normal life.

The meeting with the Captain was all about the Garcia case, and there was already some preliminary information to share. Rita revealed that Matias Garcia was a fund manager with MultiDimensional Funds, a local investment house, and had been married and divorced twice. Based on court documents, it looked like neither dissolution had been particularly contentious, which seemed a bit unusual. There were no children. Matias had a short criminal record, as Chris discovered in his research. There were a couple of minor traffic violations and two arrests for possession: a small amount of marijuana and another for cocaine. Garcia had received probation for the first and nine months - six served - for the second. Lorenzo concluded, "Both arrests were in 1985, nothing since. I think he saw a few episodes of _Miami Vice_ , decided to play a bit with drugs, and then grew up. He's been squeaky clean for nearly nine years."

"Mostly squeaky clean," Harry noted, holding up a hand. "Federal authorities have checked into Matias more than once. There were rumblings he was supplementing his income with a drug business, but he apparently washed clean. So either he wasn't trafficking, or he was very good at hiding it. I'll see if my contacts higher up can put some more skin on those bones. We're still waiting to see if the initial ME report offers anything. You two might want to hit up the ex-wives and his work - see what shakes out."

"Sounds good, Cap," Chris said, standing up. "I'm pretty sure Garcia's death wasn't your typical 'get-mad-at-your-retirement-fund-guy' killing. It looked more personal than that to me." Rita nodded and finished his thought, "There might be more to the drug thing than just rumblings, but we'll look at all options."

Chris had tried to forget about earlier, but it was burning up his mind. As they walked to the car, he brought it up. "Rita, the joke on Lipschitz was pretty funny, but also dangerous. I'm a guy and I daydream abo..."

"...Look, you're tired, and I'm exhausted," Rita interrupted. "I was telling the truth, I barely slept last night. I just wanted to thank you for everything you did, but you smelled so wonderful and felt so good..." she took a deep breath and turned to face him, "When Cap walked in and said that, I decided to mess with him...and I suppose you as well."

She looked at him with those gorgeous eyes, her hands lightly touching his forearms...this wasn't helping at all! He was starting to lose control of his emotions. He grasped on to something...anything!...to deflect from where this was headed in his mind. "So why couldn't you sleep? You were out like a light before I turned in."

Rita turned and resumed walking. "I'm pretty sure I had a nightmare. I can't remember anything about it except that it was terrible. I woke up shaking all over and bawling. I lay there for a long time trying to bring it back so I would know what it was, but...nothing. I wanted to come down and sit with you, but was afraid of ruining your sleep."

"You know that wouldn't have bothered me a bit. I'm really sorry you slept badly," unable to help himself, he added with a chuckle, "but it made my morning pretty entertaining."

The two spent the rest of the day gathering as much information on Garcia as possible. His first wife, the very attractive Ramona Garcia Weston, had filed for divorce from Matias in their eighth year of marriage. They interviewed her at her home. "Matty was trying to establish his reputation as a fund manager, so he worked seventy hours a week at MDF, schmoozed with clients on the weekends, and slept around on me. He fancied himself a real Latin lover. The money he brought home was great, but the chlamydia from a prostitute was not." She had been willing to forgive the first offenses after he apologized, but finding him on a conference-room table with a half-naked co-worker put the final nail in their marital coffin.

When Rita asked for the name of the mistress, Ms. Weston laughed, took a long pull on her bottle of Evian, and said, "That would be wife number two - Carla Garcia...well, Carla Murphy at the time. Matty told me she was hired for her expertise in foreign markets, but she clearly had other, baser talents as well. She knew how to ring his bell. I wanted to surprise him when he was working late one evening, so I popped in unannounced. I got the surprise, catching him popping Carla. I told him we were finished and to be truthful, he was good about the whole thing. He gave me some extra money in addition to the court settlement and paid off my BMW so I'd have it free and clear."

"It doesn't really sound like you had an ax to grind with Matias," Chris noted.

"Not at all," came the reply. "Frankly, I was used to his screwing around. Carla was just one of several flings, but she was the last straw. And it worked out really well for me. Matty took my part of the settlement and set it up with a great investment guy, who now happens to be my father-in-law, Joshua Weston. My husband is his son, Dr. Jonathan Weston, an orthopedic surgeon. He's wonderful!" Ramona said her ex-husband's drug use was something she loathed, but it was also sporadic. "He used only on infrequent occasions. It definitely wasn't an addiction, at least not that I ever saw. Once, twice a month, if that. Occasionally at company parties. But he did get busted with coke once and went to jail for six months or so. We were separated when that happened, the fall of '85 I think."

Ramona then lowered her voice and glanced around, as though someone was eavesdropping in the shadows of her home. "Now, I did hear rumors about him getting deeper into drugs - not using - but on the business end of things. That was after our divorce in '86." When Chris asked for more detail, she could only offer up hints. "When he and I were married, I made a couple of good friends from his office, one in particular, Jennifer Schmidt. After we split, the friendship with Jen remained for a while. We had lunch or dinner on-and-off, or went shopping together on a Saturday. She told me on a couple of occasions that her boss would drop pillow talk - I guess an unchecked libido is a job requirement over there - that Matty was trafficking cocaine for some cartel. But it was just rumor I heard through the mill, and I didn't pay it a lot of heed."

Chris followed up with the obvious question, "Ms. Weston, do you know the name of Jennifer's boss?" Ramona thought for a minute and said, "You know, I should remember, but I'm not sure anymore...Robert, Richard, something like that. It's been a few years and Jennifer has growing kids, so we don't talk much anymore. If you go to their office and the jobs haven't changed, you'll see her under him - on the staff listing board in the foyer," she added with a wink. "But I think it's Robert."

"Thanks so much for your time," Rita said, wrapping up the interview. "If you think of anything else, give us a call." Rita handed her a card and turned to Chris. "Any other questions for Ms. Weston, Sergeant Lorenzo?"

Chris thanked her as well and then asked Ramona for her whereabouts the previous Friday night. Ramona nodded and said, "I know you have to ask. Jon and I were at a regatta up in Daytona last weekend." She offered the name of the hotel where they stayed and the names of several boaters they visited while there. She finished with, "Though we didn't talk anymore, I'm actually sad that Matty is gone, and I hope the killer gets his. Jon and I may attend the memorial."

Chris headed for the car and as Rita followed him out, Mrs. Weston touched her arm and half-whispered, "If I was on your list, then Carla is, too. Listen, do not send your partner to Carla's alone. He's very handsome and, well, Carla loves handsome men, and she's not bashful at all about it."

As they pulled away from the drive-up window, they talked about their conversation with Ramona. "Well, Chris, my gut says we can move Ramona Weston to the bottom of the suspect list. She actually seemed favorably disposed to Garcia. What do you think?"

Chris agreed, putting some of his fries in with Rita's chicken strips as she drove. "We're pretty good at reading people, and you're better at it than I. I think she's totally genuine, and if you think it as well..." He paused for a moment, then added, "It definitely seems like there's something to the drug rumors." They rode in silence for a few minutes, eating and thinking, before Lorenzo spoke up again. "You know, I'm curious about Garcia's connection with the Weston dad. Maybe there's nothing to it, but I could think of a couple questions to ask..." Chris looked at his notes. "...Joshua."

His partner nodded. "Yeah, it might not hurt to speak with him, and we definitely need to spend a little time with Jen Schmidt and probably her boss. It sounds like the boardroom tables get polished on a regular basis. You going to eat the rest of your fries?"

Chris chuckled, "Yeah, I bet they have a schedule. Should we split up for Jen and Carla or tag-team? I just gave you some fries, but I'm done with these, too." He moved his fries to the center console and made some pig noises for Rita's benefit.

"Very funny, Sam." Rita chuckled, giving Chris a backhand to the chest. With Mrs. Weston's warning in her mind, she looked at the clock in the car, which read twelve thirty. "Uh, let's both visit Carla. Ramona said she's a man-eater and I might need to save you from being her next happy meal. Then we can head downtown and try to catch Jen and her boss. If we have time, we'll finish up at Matias' home and ask around with the neighbors again."

"Sounds like a plan," Chris said, looking out his window and slurping the last of his Coke.

Carla Garcia was 'Palm-Beach rich and Palm-Beach beautiful', as Chris often quipped. She lived in an upscale ranch home with a large footprint and a beautifully manicured lawn. A grand fountain added relaxing background noise to the front porch. She opened the door after their second ring on the bell, wearing a form-fitting shirt with one-too-many buttons undone and Lycra jogging shorts. She had nearly flawless olive skin, bright blue eyes, and perfect teeth. She looked at Rita and then settled her eyes on Chris. "Hello," she said, with a dazzling smile.

"Good afternoon. I'm Sergeant Lorenzo and this is my partner Sergeant Lance. We're wit...," and that was as far as Chris got with introductions before she interrupted.

Carla took a step toward Chris with a little pout on her lip and asked, "And what kind of partner is Sergeant Lance to you? Strictly business…or maybe a pleasant mix of business and pleasure? I'll be a Sergeant, too, if I can be your partner."

Lorenzo ignored her offer, showed his badge, and continued. "Ma'am, we're with the Palm Beach Police Department and we'd like to visit with you...," and Chris was forced to halt again.

"Oh, I'm always up for a visit, Sergeant Lorenzo, " she said in a softer voice, moving a little closer to him, "if you're up for it." Tipping her head toward Rita, but keeping her eyes locked on Chris, she continued, "Maybe Sergeant Lance would like to speak to the neighbors or look for some clues around the property or maybe just climb the trees while we...visit, if you're up for it. Are you up for it, Sergeant?"

Rita rolled her eyes while saying a quick thanks to Heaven that she had taken Mrs. Weston's advice. This woman was in heat. Carla's emphasis on the word 'up' each time she said it was incredibly annoying and over-the-top, but so far, Chris was doing fine.

"Ms. Garcia, we need to speak with you about Matias Garcia if you have time," Chris finally finished with the reason for their visit. This was going to take all day! He added, "...and Sergeant Lance will be here as well."

Carla turned on her heels, brushing her fingertips across Chris' chest, and headed back inside with a sigh. "Very well, then. I was just about to have an afternoon workout by the pool. Come with me."

Rita looked at Chris, raised her eyebrows, and mouthed a silent 'wow!' as Carla walked away. Chris watched her go for a second, squinted, then leaned down and whispered with a grin, "You know, Sam, I think I see about fifteen cents in her pocket," which got him another smack to the chest. "Don't encourage her in the slightest, you hound," she hissed back with a half-smile, "I don't want to have to hose you off before we get back in the car."

Carla's voice echoed back to them as she walked. "It's a shame about Matias. Yeah, I already know about it. News travels fast, even on days off. All of this..." - she waved her arms around - "...is thanks to him. He was a big deal. He did a great job for his customers - partly with my help - and that meant large year-end bonuses when he hit his numbers."

By the time they caught up with Carla in the back, she was removing her shirt, revealing a rather skimpy bikini top. Rita sighed, mostly at the distraction this woman was trying to create for her partner, but with just a tiny bit of jealousy mixed in - she certainly didn't see an incredible form like that when she looked in the mirror each morning. Carla looked at Chris and purred, "I normally do my workouts topless, but since we've got company,.." She sat down in a deck chair by the pool and told them to ask away.

MultiDimensional Funds hired Carla in May of 1984 as a foreign market analyst. "My job is to find small companies outside the US that look primed for growth. Then the fund managers look over my research and purchase shares of the companies that help them meet their fund profiles. It's a way to diversify their portfolios and mitigate risk. Our more aggressive funds have a quarter of their assets in overseas stocks...that could be upwards of one hundred million dollars. In our overseas market fund, it's nearly a quarter billion dollars."

"So you didn't work exclusively for Matias Garcia," Chris asked his question as a statement.

"I work for all the fund managers - Matias got the benefit of sleeping with me."

"When did your relationship with Matias begin?" Rita asked.

"Hmmm," she thought for a moment, "towards the end of that first year. You don't know me, but I'll confess that I'm a bit assertive," which got a sarcastic snort from Rita, "and I went after Matias. He kept me at bay for six months, telling me his wife had already caught him and he didn't want to mess things up again, but I was pretty persuasive. I handed him notes describing what I would like to do with him at his desk, or about potential meetings in the board room, provocative clothes, glances, the whole arsenal. This is a high-pressure environment, with staggering amounts of money gained and lost. A lot of - shall we say - blowing off steam occurs there. It's pretty common in this line of work. He wasn't my first conquest. Matias finally broke down, but six months was as long as anyone has ever held out." She cast a sultry look at Chris, got up, and walked to a pitcher with ice water, "But I get what I want. I know you understand, Sergeant Lance - getting what you want. I'm sure detective work can be pretty high-stress, and you need release from time to time, hmmm?"

Rita gave her a slight smile and continued, "Let's stay focused, Ms. Garcia. Clearly, your affair was more than a one-night stand. You ended up married to him."

"Yeah, not one of my best decisions," she sighed, pouring herself a glass. "Matias was a decent husband, but he was always on the prowl. I thought I could curb that in him, but I failed. And I couldn't curb it in myself, either, to be honest. What can I say, I like men." She walked back to her chair, but altered course just enough to reach out and again drag her fingers across Chris' chest as she passed.

"Uh, ma'am," Chris said and took a step back.

"What are you afraid of, Sergeant? You think I'm going for your gun?" Carla raised her eyebrows slightly as she sat again. "Don't worry, I'm just thinking about it. Anyways, I bet Sergeant Lance has dibs and wouldn't even let me get close to that weapon of yours..."

Chris opened his mouth to speak, but his partner spoke first. "Your marriage, Ms. Garcia, what about your marriage?" Rita was getting exasperated with Carla and wished Chris was doing more to help the situation. There was probably going to be a one-way conversation with 'Sergeant Lorenzo' before the day was over.

"...lasted four years. He was divorced from Ramona in '86, and we got married in the spring of '88, a small ceremony in Cozumel." Carla seemed to enjoy discussing work, so she zoned in again. "We had heaps of money. The US markets were starting their big run-up and I thought foreign markets had pretty much bottomed out in '87, so we gambled and upped our overseas investments by thirty percent," she paused for a moment, "and we hit the jackpot. When the fund you manage beats its target index, it's really lucrative. And when you beat it big, well..."

She paused for a few moments, thinking...

"I wasn't a fund manager, so I didn't receive the same kind of salary, but I still made a healthy living. I know you will check records, so there's nothing to hide. In our four years of marriage, I averaged about four hundred thousand dollars a year, and nearly double that each year in bonuses. I'm still not a fund manager that makes the big bucks, but I now manage a team of analysts, so I'm doing well...seven-figures well."

Chris whistled, thinking his career choice should have been different. "And Matias?"

"Oh my. His regular salary was about five million dollars, but because of the size of the fund he managed, his bonuses were colossal. Seven million in '88 and it grew to thirteen million in '92, when we split. Last year's was almost fifteen. Who knows about this year? Yeah, the money is incredible, even when a person is used to it. We bought this place in '90 with cash...part of the '89 bonus. We also had his place over on Middle, a hundred-acre ranch near skiing in Taos, a three-bedroom condo in Vail, and a smaller place in Hawaii."

"Was the divorce amicable?"

"Yes, Sergeant Lorenzo. Matias was fair, and frankly, there was plenty of money to go around. When we separated, it was just a fifty-fifty split. No arguments and that was it. I got this house and he bought out my stake in the other properties. I think he did right by Ramona, too - at least he told me he did. Obviously, we still depended on each other financially. We still worked together, so regardless of how things went, it was in our best interests to get along, and we did. We were on friendly terms."

She paused, looked at Chris again, and her eyes glazed a bit. "That's one thing I'm known for - friendliness." She moved to get up again.

"They should hand out prizes," Chris said, thinking fast and moving on. "Matias was arrested for cocaine possession. Was he a regular drug user?"

"He used cocaine on occasion. It was always around at office parties and gatherings, and he would help himself from time to time. But he was careful. He did not, and I mean did not, want to be controlled by it. I tried the drugs a couple of times, but they aren't my thing. I find other ways to feel good," she looked at Chris again with a smile. Rita just shook her head. This was getting ridiculous.

"There are rumors he was involved in drugs as more than just a user." Carla's demeanor changed as soon as Rita had finished her statement.

"That's a lie! Who told you that? Ramona?" Clearly, Rita had struck a nerve.

Chris jumped in. "The DEA checked out Matias, more than once. They believed he was trafficking. Look, we're not here to charge Matias...it's a little late for that. We want to find a killer and anything you can provide that will help us..."

"I'm telling you, he didn't push coke. Look around you." She was getting animated, standing up and waving her hands. "I have millions, Matias had even more millions. Why would he deal drugs and jeopardize all this? For the money? He didn't need it. For the thrill? He could buy another Porsche. If he were doing that, I would have known. He wasn't very good at hiding things."

"Where were you last Friday night?" Rita hoped her final question wouldn't anger Carla any further.

"I was in the office until two thirty Saturday morning. I worked until nine thirty the night before, then had a, uh..." The two detectives saw she was getting that look again, "meeting with Rupert Mitchell, our CEO, in the board room, and in his office, then in the kitchen, and we finished up in my office." She was almost breathless now, staring at Chris, and running her hands up her torso. "It was a very spirited meeting." Chris looked at his partner, not wanting to see what he thought this woman was going to do.

Rita, now more than a little angry, handed Carla a card and told her to call with anything else. "We may need to ask you more questions later. Have a nice day."

As they turned to go, Carla spoke to Chris directly. "I'm always available for questions, Sergeant. But if you need to come back," she cooed, nodding toward Rita, "leave your plaything at home. You'll find I open up a lot more when it's one-on-one...a lot more."

Rita clenched her fists and began to turn around, but Chris was a bit faster. He looked Carla Garcia straight in the eye and pointed a finger at her. With his hand on Rita's arm, he said in a dead voice, "I don't want you to ever speak to Sergeant Lance disrespectfully in my presence again, Ms. Garcia. She is a public servant and my partner. She has been completely professional with you, and deserves the same respect in return."

As they walked out, Carla tried for the last word, laughing as her voice carried across the expanse of the great room. "She's an amateur compared to me, Sergeant Lorenzo."

Chris put his hand gently on Rita's back, felt the bomb ticking, and spoke softly, "Keep walking, Rita, and let's get outside."

Carla waited for them to exit her home, then picked up a cell phone sitting on the desk and dialed a number. When it connected, she spoke, "It's me. Two detectives were here asking about Matias, homicide cops...Lorenzo and Lance with the Palm Beach PD...well, I think I can handle Lorenzo, but Lance is going to be a problem...of course I didn't say anything, but they asked about the drugs...no, they said the DEA has been poking around...good grief, what did you expect? You blew him apart with that hand-held bazooka of yours. Of course they're going to nose around...no kidding, you are an idiot...c'mon, that's easy, I told you to take him on my small boat, cut him up, feed him to the fish, and burn the boat...no body, no trouble, but no, you had to go all ' _Make My Day_ ' on him...no you won't! I'll deal with Lance...and Lorenzo, if necessary, it's going to be my way, got it?" Carla hung up, shaking her head.

Picking up her home phone, she dialed a different number and waited a few moments before speaking again. "Two homicide cops were out asking about Matias...never mind that, you need to know that your name came up, so they'll probably visit you...of course we were together, just tell them that...it makes no difference if they know that, wow, everyone is playing the idiot today! You're totally fine, just keep your cool!" She hung up with a roll of her eyes and a sigh.

Carla thought for a minute or two and then, with a smile forming, clicked the re-dial button on her cell phone.

As soon as they closed the front door, Rita took the car keys from her pocket, jammed them in Chris' hand and spit out, "You drive!" He took a deep breath...this was probably going to hurt.

They drove in complete silence for several minutes and from the corner of his eye, he could see tears starting down her cheeks. When they passed a city park, he could still hear the anger in her voice, "Pull over here."

She immediately got out and walked to a picnic table, while he stayed a couple steps behind, letting her have her pace. Rita sat down on the tabletop, put her head in her hands, and began to cry. Chris stood a few feet away and waited, feeling helpless, afraid of doing nothing, terrified of interfering, and puzzled by her demeanor. This was not like her at all.

Minutes passed before she finally spoke, more softly this time, "Come here."

Chris slowly walked over and said, "I'm so sor.."

"Shut up for a minute," came the order. Chris clamped his mouth shut. Yep, this was really going to hurt.

Rita reached out and put her arms around him, buried her face in his chest, and began crying again. Chris held his partner in silence, respecting her wishes.

"Christopher, thank you," she spoke through the tears. Chris was stunned. He was expecting a tongue-lashing over Carla's antics. It wasn't his fault at all, but he figured she was angry because he didn't do more to stop it. "Thank you for what you said to her. I'm so sorry for this."

Chris rubbed her back and whispered, "Hey, it's fine. Carla is a Cat Six hurricane, but we've dealt with her type before. What happened back there?"

She looked up at him and wiped a couple tear streaks from her cheeks as she spoke. "That whole 'come hither' game she played with you from the start was disgusting, and I could feel the anger building inside me. And then to be dismissed with a flip as a 'plaything'..." She shook her head and her voice cracked as she spoke. "No one's ever done that to me. I think I'm just really tired from last night and I let her get in my head." She sniffed and wiped her eyes.

"It was kind of a Jekyll-and-Hyde thing with her," Chris observed. "She would play this normal-person versus sex-kitten persona. It was more than a little creepy. You think it was just an act or the way she really is?"

"I'm pretty sure I don't want to analyze it any more today."

Chris nodded, "You know, the good thing is we were in there," he paused to look at his watch, "less than forty minutes. It's not even one thirty, so we have plenty of time to head downtown. You good or do you need a little more time?"

"Give me just another minute to get it together. I'm a mess." She looked up at him again. "Please don't say anything to anyone about this."

Chris gave her another one of those molten smiles, "Say anything about what, Sam?"

Exhausted and emotionally drained, tears filled her eyes and she cried one last time as she mumbled, "Thank you again. I'm fine now."

The ride downtown was mostly in silence. Rita cleaned herself up and re-applied a bit of makeup while Chris focused on driving and did his best not to notice. He did a bit of thinking and suddenly tapped the steering wheel. "You know, Ramona mentioned a Richard or a Robert and Carla's alibi for Friday night was a Rupert, is that right? Think they might be the same person?"

Rita opened her notebook, "Yeah, you're right, Rupert Mitchell. Good catch! It will be interesting to see what we discover down there. You still think Matias was trafficking?"

Chris thought for a minute before responding, happy to see her getting back to normal. "I'm not sure, Ramona didn't know and Carla said emphatically no - maybe a little too emphatically. Still, Matias was never collared for more than simple possession, and that wasn't a plea down from a bigger charge." Rita was silent, so he thought some more. "Ok, so I never met Garcia except as a dead guy, but what if the Feds were looking at the wrong Garcia. What about Carla?...or Ramona?"

Rita shrugged. "Hopefully our next interviews will shed some light on things."

From the outside, MultiDimensional Funds looked a lot like a smaller version of the Palm Beach Police Department - lots of blue and lots of glass, and plenty of room for its forty-seven employees - well, forty-six employees now. They walked through the front doors, but because they didn't have a pass key, they had to announce themselves and wait to be buzzed into the main foyer. Upon entrance, they were immersed in an aura of rich wood, luxurious lamb's wool carpeting, and smooth jazz playing softly in the background. There were several clocks on the wall, showing the time in different cities around the world, and large monitors on desks displaying market activity from numerous exchanges.

As they walked toward the front desk, Rita checked out the staff listing behind the receptionist. Sure enough, there was Jennifer Schmidt's picture and bio, right below Rupert Mitchell. Matias' information was still on the board as well, and it was nice to see him minus the pallor of a gruesome death. They greeted the smiling man behind the desk – William, according to him nametag. He immediately told them how sorry he was about Matias. "We've suffered a terrible loss. Matias was a great manager and a really nice guy." They asked to speak with Jennifer and were told she had not come in today - a sick child kept her home. Mitchell was also gone. "I'm sorry," William said, "but he just left to meet friends for a round of golf. I'm not sure about Mrs. Schmidt, but Rupert is scheduled to be in the office tomorrow."

As they walked to the car, Rita voiced her suspicions. "Don't you find it more than just a bit coincidental that Rupert took off for golf right as we were coming down to visit him?"

"Not at all," Chris replied, without a moment's hesitation. "Carla and Rupert apparently share an alibi. She was probably dialing him up as we shut her door, telling him to get out of the office. I wouldn't be surprised if they were playing golf right now, straightening their stories - not that kind of golf, Rita," he added when he caught the sidelong glance from her, "the real kind. Let's find out where Jennifer Schmidt lives and pay her a visit."

Chris called the station and it took only a few minutes for them to locate the Schmidt residence, which was actually closer to Port St. Lucie than Palm Beach. "That's quite a commute to make every day," Chris told the voice on the other end, "Thanks for the info." As they headed north, the coroner's office called Rita - Matias Garcia had died from gunshots to the head and chest from a .50-caliber handgun. Chris whistled when Rita repeated the news to him. The toxicology report would take a couple more weeks to complete. Rita hung up and told him what Diana had said, concluding with a sigh, "The autopsy to this point has been exactly as we thought; no surprises and no real revelations."

Rita called Forensics about fingerprints, but the news didn't help at all. "Well, so far Forensics has just two set of prints - those from Matias and two sets from one Raul Esposo, the gardener, which were limited to the doors by the garage and the shed. Esposo has no warrants and no record. Whoever killed Garcia did the job and didn't leave a calling card."

The two rode in silence, and when Chris looked over to say something, Rita had dozed off. He smiled to himself, glad she could rest, if only for a few minutes. A half hour later, Chris rang the doorbell, and Jennifer answered, holding the door open just far enough for her head to peek out. After introductions, he said, "We would like to ask you some questions about Matias Garcia if you have a few minutes." She looked behind her and said, "Give me just a second," and closed the door. She returned a minute later, stepped out, and shut the door behind her.

"Thanks," she said, "Our middle child has chicken pox, which is running through her school. I just needed to tell my husband to keep an eye on the kids for a few. I wasn't at the office today, but Rupert called everyone this morning and told us about Matias. It's awful!"

Rita, who had perked up a bit, told Jen she was sorry for her. "Everyone we've talked to so far has said Matias was very caring. It sounds like he was a good man."

Jen told them Rupert hired her as a secretary right out of high school in 1981, and she had known Garcia from day one. When asked about her job at MDF, Jen said she loved the work. The pay and bonuses, though she was only an assistant, were good. She added that with three kids, the eight-to-five day without the need to take work home was perfect for her.

Rita then probed a little further. "Tell us about your relationship with Rupert Mitchell." Jen's eyes darted from one detective to the other and she responded a little too quickly, "I'm just his secretary."

It was Chris' turn. "How well do you know Ramona Weston?" Jen gave a blank stare until Chris added, "Ramona Garcia, now Ramona Weston."

"Oh, I'm sorry, it took me a second. I knew her pretty well a few years back - she must have re-married and I didn't know. Yeah, we spent some time together, shopping, lunch, stuff like that. She was one of the few really genuine people associated with MDF. A breath of fresh air, I guess - money didn't consume her. It's been several years now, but yeah."

Rita looked at her with a sideways glance and continued. "Ramona indicated that, on more than on occasion, you admitted to a physical relationship with Rupert, and that you shared Rupert's pillow-talk with her."

Jen begged Rita to speak quietly and asked if that information would be made public. Rita responded, "At this point, we see no reason for that, but we have to know the facts."

Jen responded very quietly with a sigh, "My husband can't know, but yeah, I was in a relationship with Mitchell."

Chris asked a one-word follow-up. "Was?"

Jen spoke quickly in a frightened whisper, "Ok, yes, I am in a relationship with him, but please, we have three children!"

Chris reminded her of the obvious. "Jen, the truth is your best friend here. Stick to it and we'll do our best to keep quiet anything that's...extraneous."

"I've been involved with Rupert for years, back to just a few months after I started at MDF. I was single then and didn't really think about the fallout. When I met Todd, my husband, we broke it off for a while, but that didn't last for more than a couple of months and we were back together on-the-sly. Rupert was pretty persuasive."

Rita was immediately concerned and asked, "Was he - or is he - forcing himself on you or threatening you?"

"That's not it at all," Jen said. "The guy is a master with women, I simply couldn't stay away. Part of me hated it - still hates it - but I keep doing it. You know, when Todd and I got married, I made up an elaborate story about my bachelorette party - and spent the entire night before my wedding with Rupert. It's horrible, but he's like a drug for me. If Todd found out, I know he'd take the kids and leave, and he'd have every right to."

Chris decided that Mrs. Schmidt was falling into the same trap that many people did when interviewed by police officers – they talked too much and gave far more information than was needed. If often led to more arrests and convictions, but it also revealed a lot of uncomfortable and unnecessary detail.

"Do you love your husband?" Rita found this conversation unpleasant and knew it wasn't really pertinent, but asked the question anyway.

"Yes, I do, though you might find that hard to believe. He's a wonderful man, a devoted father, and completely oblivious." Jen's eyes were getting watery.

Chris continued. "When we spoke with Ramona, she said you told her that Matias was involved in drug trafficking. Is that true?"

Mrs. Schmidt was working to maintain her composure. "Well, it's what Rupert said. He told me he liked his cocaine, and Garcia could get him good stuff - that was always his line, pardon the pun, 'Garcia can get me the good stuff' - that he had a regular pipeline. He tried to get me to use, but with the kids, no way! When he uses before our encounters, he is incredible! He'll go for hours."

A thought struck Chris and he responded with, "Has he mentioned Matias specifically as the supplier?"

Jen thought for a minute before answering, "You know, I don't recall it, but that doesn't mean he hasn't. Maybe I just assumed...what, you think Ramona? That doesn't seem like her at all!"

Rita spoke up, "We're not thinking anything specific at this point, just trying to gather information. Can you think of anyone who would have wanted Matias dead?"

"No one at all," Jen said after a bit of thought. "I suppose if he was dealing coke and crossed somebody, he could be marked. Here's something I just remembered - Rupert told me Garcia made regular boat trips to Miami to pick up drugs, but Ramona mentioned that Matias hated boats because he got seasick pretty easily. Maybe that's something, maybe not." She turned and cracked the front door. "Look, I need to head back inside and finish getting dinner ready for Todd and the kids. I apologize, but this has been incredibly embarrassing for me."

Chris handed her his card and thanked her for her time. Jen stood there for a minute lost in thought, watching her interviewers walk away. Hearing the phone ring, she hung her head for a moment before turning around. As she walked in and closed the door, her husband called from one of the bedrooms. "Honey, your boss is on the line, and he says it's important..."

Rita again fought to stay awake as they returned to Palm Beach. Finally, Chris patted her leg and told her to just rest, and she gained another half hour of sleep. Because they were driving into town, the rush-hour traffic was minimal, which gave them the time they needed to canvas the neighborhood around Matias' home. They learned nothing more, because no one had seen or heard anything.

It was after six and nearly dark when they got back to the station. Rita told Chris she wasn't going into the office. "Diana is bringing dinner over at seven thirty and we're going to eat and maybe watch a little TV. I'll probably turn in early." She gave Chris a hug and said, "Thanks again for your understanding and sweet spirit during my meltdown. I'm very sorry."

"Hey, don't think a thing about it. Have a great evening and yeah, get some rest. I might run upstairs for a few and jot down some notes from today. I'll see you tomorrow."

As he turned, she took his arm and pulled him back. "Chris, would you like to come eat with us? It won't be anything big, but it would save you prepping a meal, and it could be a bit of payback. After all, it was Diana who spoiled our dinner last night."

Chris thought for a minute, really wanting to hang out with her, but also knowing they often stayed up late to talk. "You know I'd love to, but after your sleepless night in my bed, I'd want you to return the favor," he said with a grin, "and I need my beauty sleep. I have some leftover spaghetti I either need to eat or pitch...rain check?"

"Rain check...maybe tomorrow," Rita offered with a smile. Her partner nodded and turned to leave a second time, and for a second time she pulled him back. She put her hand behind his neck, pulled him close, and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, and thanks again."

Chris told her goodnight as well and watched until she got in her car and left the parking lot. He looked at the office door for a moment, thinking about going in, then changed his mind and walked to the car. Had Chris decided to join her for dinner or had his partner been a little less tired and a little more alert, one of them might have noticed the dark green sedan that pulled out of the adjacent parking lot, turned in the same direction as Rita's car, and drove into the last of the day's light.

Rita had just changed into casual clothes and pulled out another work outfit to take to Chris' apartment next time she visited, when she heard the knock on the door. She took a quick glance at the clock and noted Diana was a bit early, but was glad since she was tired. Walking by the aquarium and up out of the sunken living room, she opened the door to greet her dinner guest...

* * *

Chris ate his dinner with only a bit of background music, not even bothering to change his clothes. All the way home, he wondered why he hadn't accepted the dinner offer. Almost any other night he would have, but he knew Rita was exhausted and Diana would respect that. He laughed to himself when he thought about her kissing his neck in front of the Captain and everyone else, and then wondered if his partner was only play-acting. The way things had gone between them of late, a small part of him hoped she wasn't. There was no denying how good it made him feel. She had been spending a little more free time with him, she had touched his hands and arms a little more, and she was calling him 'Christopher', which she did when she was a little sweeter with him.

He dawdled a bit over the meatballs, his mind drifting to the Garcia case, so he pulled out his notebook and went through what he had written down. Ramona had come across as completely genuine. Carla, on the other hand, had been off the scale, and he couldn't remember any woman he had interviewed that had come on so strongly. She was a looker, no doubt about it, but she was a tiger - no, maybe a cougar was the better term, he thought with another chuckle, and she was on the hunt. Rita's response to Carla's antics surprised him. It was totally out-of-character, but at least she hadn't blown up in front of Carla, which could have been bad. He smiled a bit at the possibility that Rita was a bit jealous, but no, that really wasn't her style, either.

He categorized Jen's family as a mess. Three children and a husband that loved a wife that had been unfaithful their entire marriage. It was a bit much, even by Palm-Beach standards. He shuddered when thinking about this woman sleeping with a lover the night before getting married. How many lies had Mrs. Schmidt told over the years? Was she telling the truth now? He sighed...just when he thought he had heard everything...

He decided to make a to-do list for tomorrow, since the Captain would probably ask about next steps. An interview with Rupert Mitchell was priority one, and maybe a talk with Joshua Weston - that whole investment thing intrigued him. The police had already sealed off Garcia's office and ordered the IT manager at MDF to lock down his computer, so they would do some further digging into all that. The comment Mrs. Schmidt made about the boat was another interesting point...

...he suddenly woke up, his notebook on his chest and his pen on the floor. In a sleepy haze, he looked at the clock, which read 11:47pm. He had planned to give his partner a quick call before going to bed, but it was way too late now. Hoping she was resting, he headed upstairs, got out of his clothes, and crawled into bed. He could smell her perfume from the night before, so he pulled the sheet over his head and lay there for quite a while before drifting to sleep a second time.

* * *

Rita hugged Diana and thanked her for bringing dinner. "It's a scalloped potato and ham casserole, along with a little salad I threw together. And some chocolate chip cookie bars for dessert...they're still warm," she replied as she walked in and handed the bag off.

Rita checked the bag's contents. "It looks fantastic and it smells fantastic, and I'm starved! I haven't eaten today except for what Chris and I grabbed at noon, just some chicken strips and fries."

Diana gave her a sly glance and laughed, "Are you sure that's all you had?" When Rita thought back and said she had skipped breakfast, her friend laughed again. "That's not what I heard. The grapevine reported that you took a bite out of your partner this morning in front of everyone, and admitted that you spent the night with him," Diana paused to watch her reaction, "...and you're blushing badly, so it must be true."

"It wasn't anything like that, and I promise I didn't sleep with Chris. It was just a joke I pulled on Captain Lipschitz and Christopher happened to be the one I used." Rita quickly set the table. "What can I get you to drink? I'm having a glass of wine, but you can have whatever you'd like."

Diana cocked her head and made a quick decision, "Wine is...wait, I would take a beer if you have one, but otherwise, wine is great."

"You bet," Rita responded, her hand reaching to the back of the fridge and her mind racing to divert the subject, "I always keep a few here for Chris. He likes a beer once in...", her voice trailed off and she looked at her dinner date sheepishly. That wasn't going to help, and Diana's smirk proved it. "C'mon, Diana, you know Chris and I are here together on occasion..."

"On occasion...?"

"There is a lot of work to do, cases to discuss."

"Uh huh...work. Ok, let's drop it and get back to the original subject, which just happens to be Chris Lorenzo. Uh, so, what you were saying is that if Chris had not been in the office this morning, you would have just picked another person at random, rubbed all over him, and played suck-face? You tramp!" Diana was thoroughly enjoying dealing out a little torture.

"Absolutely not," Rita answered, still a bit embarrassed, "it w..."

"So it was for Chris alone," Diana winked and nodded knowingly. "I think I have it now. We should eat before the casserole is cold and the salad is warm. See if you can worm your way out of this."

As they ate, Rita talked about the previous late night, finishing up at the Garcia home, her stay at Chris' place, and a play-by-play of the events in the office. When she finished, Diana looked at her again with mock skepticism, but relented, "Well, I buy your story for now, but reserve the right to change my opinion later."

The two plopped on the sofa, their cookie bars topped with ice cream, which Rita decided not to mention was in the freezer for Chris. As they sat, Diana talked a little about the Garcia autopsy, but didn't say too much because, as she put it, "...it's been one of the more unpleasant jobs I've done in a while."

Rita flipped on the TV and pushed play on a movie they had picked. As the ten minutes of movie trailers ran, she gave a quick overview of her day. She zoomed in for more detail when talking about Carla Garcia and her blow-up with Chris. "I don't know what happened to me...I...I...just lost it. Carla was so in-your-face trashy with him, she touched his chest more than once, took her shirt off, talked about his weapon, everything. The only things she didn't do were strip naked and hump his leg, and she would have done that had I not been there. And then she called me Chris' plaything and I exploded - fortunately, not in front of her, or there would have been consequences."

Diana chuckled, "Based on your account of this morning, there might be something to 'plaything'..."

Rita laughed with her, "Ok, you got me there, but that woman was so condescending. It was nice that Christopher stepped in and told her to be respectful, but I was seeing red. Then I broke down after we left. I don't know what's wrong with me. I cried like a baby and he was so gracious."

Diana took her friend's hand, let out a sigh, and shook her head. "Oh, sweetie, I'm afraid you have feelings for Chris that go way beyond being his friend and partner, and this isn't the first time I've said that." When Rita opened her mouth to protest, Diana raised her hand. "I know all about your 'loving, but not in love' thing...how many times have you told me that? I see no need to debate this again. I think you truly are in love with him, and this woman was coming on to a man you love very much, so I understand your reaction. I also know the two of you have boundaries you don't want to cross. You're going to have to work through that and figure out how to suppress or re-direct your feelings, unless you want to start humping his leg," she added with a laugh. "I don't think you'd have much competition if you went after him. Your partner is crazy about you."

"I'm not saying I would do it, but Chris can have pretty much any woman he wants, though he's not seeing anyone now."

Diana thought for a moment, and said, "Yeah, I don't think he has for a while now. I did hear a rumor..."

Rita perked up. "What rumor?"

Diana laughed again. "Ok, you asked that a little too quickly. It was a while ago, several months at least, but somebody told me there was a woman that really liked Chris. Of course, that could include a host of suspects. I eat lunch once a week with two of them - both happily married - that would kill to be in your shoes. As I recall, this lady was over in the DA's office. You're friends with George Donovan, so you should ask if he's heard anything."

It was Rita's turn to laugh. "George is oblivious to that relational stuff, and he's trying to make things right with Andrea. If I asked, all I would do is stir something up. Chris doesn't hide his relationships from me, so if there was something at all serious, he'd say."

"True, and like I said, it was a while back and it was rumor...probably nothing. Oh, the movie is starting..."

Two hours later, Diana thanked Rita for the great evening, let her keep the leftovers, and headed for home. Nibbling on another of Diana's cookie bars, Rita went to the bedroom, looked in her closet for a minute, then undressed and put on Chris' t-shirt before crawling into bed and succumbing to a dreamless slumber.

As Chris dozed on the sofa and Rita slept soundly in her bed, a minivan made its way north along I-95. The woman behind the wheel, with a lot on her mind and fatigue setting in, watched without much interest as the green Interstate signs and corresponding exits passed by. Forty-Fifth Street became Highway 710, which soon rolled into Northlake Boulevard. Lost in thought and focused on getting to her destination, she didn't hear or feel the movement on the floor behind her. Slowly a figure pulled himself up to his knees between the seats. "I need you to do exactly as I say," he commanded, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. The startled driver jumped and shrieked, but knew to do as ordered when she felt the cold barrel of a pistol pressed against her right temple.


	3. Wednesday

Chris was sitting at his desk when Rita pushed through the doors. He noticed right away that she looked rested and more refreshed than the day before. For her part, Rita was a bit surprised he got to the office ahead of her. That rarely happened. "Good morning, Chris," she said with a bright smile. He responded with a similar smile and a 'hey there' of his own.

Activity around the office paused a bit as the others watched for a repeat of the previous day's antics, but there were none. In fact, Rita wasn't even seated before their Captain called them both into his office. Rita delayed just long enough to fill her coffee cup. "Close the door," Harry told them, directing them to sit down. "Keeping our hands to ourselves today?...good! Have we got anything concrete in the Garcia shooting?"

Rita led off, "Cap, the short answer is no, but it's early." She then launched into the longer answer, talking about the interviews with Ramona and Carla, hoping Chris would leave out anything about her incident in the park afterwards. To her relief, he said nothing about it, but he did add the confirmation that Jon and Ramona Weston had checked into their hotel in Daytona on Thursday evening and stayed until Sunday morning checkout. Rita then continued, telling Harry about their meeting with Jen and their need to speak with Rupert Mitchell.

Chris chimed in, "You're right; we need to get his story. Both Jen Schmidt and Carla Garcia have admitted to being involved with him, but each of them had a different response to the question of Matias' trafficking. We hope he sheds a little light on this. I think he is the first order of business today. While we're down there, we'll look at Garcia's office and pick up his computer and anything else that needs studied back here."

"Actually, we have two officers scheduled to pick up the computers after lunch, so you can take that off your list, but look his office over. Anything else?" asked Harry.

"Jennifer also mentioned boat trips to Miami - the implication being drug runs - so I checked with DMV first thing this morning and Matias Garcia has a forty-five-foot Class 3. We should track it down and look it over. I also thought we might give Joshua Weston a call." Chris explained his connection with Matias, which piqued Harry's interest as well. "There might be absolutely nothing to it," Chris added, "but it's worth checking out."

Looking at his boss, Chris offered his opinion. "Rita and I haven't really discussed this at length yet, so I'll speak for myself. I think a drug cartel killed Garcia - the hit on him looks professional. But if you asked me right now, my gut says he wasn't in the business. I would actually be more inclined to think he found out something and was silenced." Rita added, "I'm not totally sure I agree with all that yet, but it's certainly a plausible explanation." Chris finished with a question. "Have you heard anything from DEA?"

Harry shook his head, "Nothing yet, but I'll get in touch with them again. If you don't mind, I will pass along your theory as 'food for thought'. In the meantime, I think you two have enough to do for the day. You don't need to hold down my chairs any longer," he smiled and dismissed them with a wave of the hand.

As they stood up, the Captain's phone rang. He answered, "Yeah...uh-huh...well, that's really an issue for Missing Persons, isn't it?" Harry listened for another moment, then looked up and motioned for Chris and Rita to stay. "Ok, thanks, I'll let them know." Looking at his two detectives, he pointed at the phone and said, "The switchboard just got a 'missing persons' report from Todd Schmidt. He said his wife Jen received a call from her boss last night shortly after you talked with her, then headed into work and did not return home. Todd called her office this morning and she isn't there, either."

Rita looked at Chris and then at Harry before speaking. "It hasn't been twenty-four hours for an official declaration, but her children are nine, seven, and three, and the middle one has chicken pox. There is no way she just heads to the office and doesn't return the entire night. Something isn't right."

Harry thought for a moment. "Yeah, I agree. I'll send uniforms to take Mr. Schmidt's statements and we'll jump-start a search for her. You guys stick to your task list, and I'll have the officers forward everything they get from Todd to you...you're standing here, why are you still standing here?"

"So you want to split up and tackle these separately or do a tag-team again?" Back at their desks, Chris had spoken as he turned to Rita, not realizing she was on the phone. He mouthed a 'Sorry!' in her direction just as she hung up and said, "That's ok. Weston's business is down in Boca, about thirty minutes away...sorry, what did you ask?"

An officer walked by and handed Rita a piece of paper that she quickly scanning after thanking him. She turned to Chris. "Matias' boat is supposedly docked at Palm Harbor Marina."

Chris repeated his question and his partner looked at her watch and thought for only a moment before suggesting they ride together. She added, "It's a quarter of nine, and officers are scheduled to be at MultiDimensional Funds at one this afternoon to pick up Matias' gear. But if Jen went there last night and then disappeared, we need to speak with Rupert now."

"Agreed...let's hit the trail."

Rita smiled and double-checked her notes, "So we visit Rupert and MDF, then the marina, then Weston. You know, we really haven't looked over the Garcia estate grounds, and I'd like to do that today if time allows." She made one more addition to her list.

Chris nodded in agreement and added, "I hope Jen Schmidt just got drunk and is passed out somewhere, but I have a bad feeling."

As they made their way to Rupert's office, Rita told Chris about her dinner with Diana the previous night, leaving out Diana's assessment of their relationship. "I wish you could have come over. Diana's meal was excellent, and she let me keep the leftovers."

Chris chuckled from the passenger's seat, "I'm sure it was good, but Diana would have noticed right away that you were tired and let you have an early night of it, while I would have kept you up way too late. You look really good today - well, you look pretty good every day," he added with a smile, "but you're well-rested again, so I'm glad you got some sleep."

"Well, thank you, Christopher. And I'm glad you noticed."

William greeted the two detectives warmly after letting them through the door, adding, "We're going to be on a first-name basis if this keeps up." When Rita asked to speak with Rupert Mitchell, William dialed a number it was only a couple of minutes until a distinguished man who looked to be about fifty came out of a corner office, walked up, and directed them to follow him back to his office.

"Good morning, detectives, I am Rupert Mitchell. How can I help you?"

Rita took care of introductions and got right to the point of their visit. Mitchell admitted to occasional drug use with an unconcerned shrug, "After all, who hasn't messed with drugs at least once in their life?" He also readily confessed to being involved with Jen Schmidt, confirming her story and timeline. The sexual liaison with Carla Garcia was, in his words, "...an infrequent blowing off steam during late nights of work," and he backed up Carla's story of their meeting Friday night.

When Rupert finished, Chris spoke up. "We talked with Jen Schmidt last evening, and she suggested that Matias may have been involved in the drug business in addition to his work here."

Rupert's response was immediate, "I have no idea where she heard that. It's news to me."

Chris looked hard at Mitchell. "Are you sure about that? Jen fingered you as the source. She said you mentioned it on more than one occasion and she told more than just us about it."

Mitchell pursed his lips and thought for a moment before shaking his head. "Nope. I would not have mentioned even once something I knew nothing about. Matias Garcia was a very capable fund manager - one of our best - but he had nothing to do with drugs other than infrequent use. He used less than I did, and I don't use very often - not any more, at least."

The two detectives looked at each other before Rita continued. "When did you last speak with Jennifer?"

Rupert responded with, "I called her last night at her home to talk with her about a memorial for Matias and to check on funeral service arrangements. We're going to close the office for the service and there are lots of details to cover for that." When asked if Jennifer had come into the office last night, Rupert said no. "Her daughter is pretty sick with chicken pox, which is really contagious. There is no way I would let her come to work until a doctor gave her and her daughter the 'all-clear'."

As Rupert spoke, Chris scanned the room. The responses they were getting to their questions were not adding up in his mind and he wanted better confirmation. He and Rita struggled through a few more minutes of questions before taking their leave. They returned to the front desk, where William was waiting. He unlocked Matias' office and left them to their investigation. Most of the files had to do with various funds and contained lots of numbers, but a couple files looked different, and Rita took those from the cabinets.

Chris noted that the answering machine was a digital service, so he called back to the shop to remind the officers coming after the computers to get any phone messages from the service as well. As they headed for the exit, Chris continued to scan the office space and, seeing what he wanted to see, waited until they were in the car to speak.

"Ok, Rita, what do you think?"

Rita turned onto the boulevard, took a deep breath, exhaled, and spoke, her expression filled with skepticism. "I'm not buying what he's selling. He calls Jen last night to talk about the funeral service. Couldn't he just discuss that with her when she gets to the office? That's not pressing at all."

Chris agreed, but probed a little. "Well, she's been his assistant for years, which maybe makes her the go-to."

Rita rolled her eyes said, "Come on, Chris. We walked from the back of the office to the front. Nearly every manager's office had an assistant in front of it. Mitchell could have just had someone else deal with closing the office and sending notifications to clients. It's not that specialized."

"I agree, but wanted to get your thoughts. I think Jen was there last night, and I think we can easily confirm it. Look, we have to be buzzed in for each visit because we don't have the pass keys that the employees have. I bet that each time a passkey activates the locks, something gets logged by the computer system. And I was looking around - there are video cameras everywhere. If she was there last night, the computers and cameras will have logged it. We need to get access to those systems to verify. I wonder if we can get a warrant before the officers pick up the computers at lunch. If so, they can get access to the video and computer logs at the same time."

Rita shook her head. "With Jen not officially missing, I bet getting our hands on the video will be difficult at best. We probably need something more concrete than just our suspicion to get that done. But it never hurts to try...I'd say call the Captain and see what he can do."

Chris dialed the office and made his request before hanging up. "What time did you get to bed last night?"

"Sometime around nine thirty," came the response. "And you...?"

Chris chuckled, "I fell asleep on the sofa at I-don't-even-know-when and woke up just before midnight. I was wiped and had to work to drag myself up to bed."

Ten minutes later, the pair arrived at Palm Harbor Marina, where they explained the reason for their visit and were guided to the slip owned by Matias Garcia. Docked there was a beautiful Buddy Davis 47. The manager in charge, June Marie Golding, brought a clipboard with her and flipped through the pages as they boarded the vessel. She called to them from the dock. "One Matias Garcia bought the slip in February of 1990 for this boat. According to our records, it has left the dock," she paused for a few seconds to count, "a dozen times in just under four years. Matias liked having small gatherings on the boat, but wasn't a big fan of taking it out - seasickness. He did take it on short jaunts once in a while – mostly one- or two-hour trips - but the boat was never out of the harbor more than...," she consulted her clipboard again, "...more than five hours."

Chris asked, "When did this boat last leave the harbor and for how long was it gone?"

June spoke as she flipped to the last page of her notes and started scanning backwards. "That...would be...Christmas Day, about six weeks ago. He departed around six thirty and logged back in just before ten - one of his longer trips. No activity since." She waited a few seconds before concluding, "I've got to update my records on a couple of boats at the end of this dock. If you have more questions or need anything else, come find me. Otherwise I'll be back this way in about thirty minutes and will stop by."

Chris raised his hand. "One last question. What kind of speed will this boat make?"

June look at her papers again. "Let's see, twin diesels, seven- to eight-hundred horse each...hmmm...twenty-five knots, maybe thirty knots max on smooth water. But you'd probably never run this boat wide open like that. People rip around in powerboats. They cruise in these. And I knew Matias a little bit...he would never bounce around at those speeds."

"Thank you," Rita replied, while doing some quick calculating. She looked at Chris and said, "I doubt we'll find much of anything here. I'm starting to think your theory - the one with Matias not involved - has some merit." Chris, who was checking out the bridge, turned to his partner with a questioning look. "Think about it," Rita continued, "an average of three trips per year, and none of them long enough to get to Miami. It's what, seventy-five or eighty miles from here? No way he gets down there, picks up drugs, and gets back in the time he was gone. Maybe with a powerboat, and even that is pushing it, but definitely not this."

"So what if he met another boat between here and Miami?" Chris asked. "A boat comes part way up and drops the contraband, and he goes part way down and picks it up."

"The times still don't really work. If he goes half way, it's still a three- or four-hour round trip, and that's if he pushes it. If he goes out thirty miles or less to make the pickup, it might work. But why would a middle-man from Miami pay two people for drug delivery when one of those two people - Matias - is barely leaving port? You add another point of failure for almost no gain. Why not just pay one person to make the delivery and take a bigger cut of the profit?"

Chris couldn't fault his partner's logic and he responded with a smile, "Makes perfect sense...it's almost like you have experience with this."

"Very funny," came the retort, "let's check below deck."

The two of them checked the seating area, then the guest berth. When they got to the master suite, Chris looked through the storage compartments while Rita moved into the small bathroom. "I've got nothing, Rita. I don't know if anyone has ever been in here. Everything is unmarked and looks brand new. Either it is unused or it's been scoured well."

"Same here with the bathroom...nothing. But it doesn't smell like cleaners or bleach - it still smells new. We should have officers lift prints and bring a dog to sniff for drugs. Maybe we get lucky, but I think this is a dead-end."

Chris concluded, "It seems like this boat was something Garcia bought because he could, not because he really wanted it. He didn't really use it other than an occasional jaunt or a weekend party at the dock."

They found June again and retrieved copies of the paperwork she had, then left a business card with her before leaving the marina. As Rita pulled onto I-95 and headed south towards Boca Raton, Chris checked in with Captain Lipschitz to see about progress on a warrant for MDF and to request a K-9 officer for Garcia's boat. He listened and shook his head knowingly before thanking Harry and hanging up.

"Officers and a dog will be here this afternoon, but it's a no-go on the warrant. Jennifer Schmidt still isn't officially classified as missing, and we have nothing more than supposition to back up our guesses. George can't move on it until we have something more concrete, and I actually can see that. We just need to find her and talk with her again. It's eleven - you alright with visiting Josh Weston before lunch?"

"Sure, we have about a twenty-minute drive ahead of us. Why don't you call his firm and make sure he's available."

Chris placed the call and learned that Josh was not only in the office, but had nothing on his schedule until three in the afternoon and was happy to visit with them.

Weston Wealth Management was considerably smaller than MultiDimensional Funds, but the main function of the companies was very similar - make money for their respective clients. Clearly, Josh Weston was capable of doing that - his surroundings were even more luxurious than those of Rupert Mitchell. Josh stood from behind his desk, extended his hand with a bright smile, and greeted Chris and Rita warmly. "It's great to finally meet you, detectives. I'm Joshua Weston - you can call me Josh."

Chris wondered at the word 'finally' and glanced at Rita as he took Weston's hand with a smile of his own. "Thanks so much for agreeing to see us. I'm Sergeant Lorenzo with the Palm Beach Police Department and," turning to Rita, "this is my partner, Sergeant Lance."

"A pleasure, Sergeant Lance," Weston replied, reaching for and taking Rita's hand. "Please sit down. How can I help you two today?"

Rita spoke as she sat, "I'm a bit puzzled - you speak as though you know us, and I don't think we've ever met." Chris nodded in agreement.

"Oh, but I do know you, Chris Lorenzo and Rita Lance, in a manner of speaking." Chris and Rita looked at each other in surprise, as Josh paused a moment for effect. "I know your boss and his wife, Harry and Fran Lipschitz. Harry has been a client of ours since he moved from New York last summer. I can't say a lot more about that, but I can say he has spoken of you two often, and always in glowing terms. When my assistant told me your last names, I figured you must be them. I would guess you are visiting on police business."

"Josh, we wanted to speak with you about Matias Garcia."

Josh sat down and dipped his head slightly before saying, "I was very sorry to hear of his death. It was on the news last night. I have known him for years. He actually worked for us as an intern his last summer before graduation from college. We hired him after he graduated and he did financial research for a couple of years. We were getting ready to promote him to Financial Advisor when MultiDimensional Funds came calling. They offered him a fund manager position, which represents a significant premium over what we were offering, and he accepted it."

Rita leaned forward a bit and followed up with, "Did it upset you that he left?"

"To the contrary, I was thrilled for him. Had I been in his position, I would have been tempted to do the same. There is a lot more stress in managing a billion-dollar fund - stress I wouldn't necessarily want - but he probably earned ten times what he would have made with us, just managing the funds of individuals. I was sorry to lose Matias, but also very happy for his success."

Chris spoke next. "So he went from a college student to research analyst to fund manager in the space of two years. Is that a normal career trajectory?"

"Actually, he worked for us three years, and no, it's not normal at all. You would expect five to ten years of preliminary experience before even sniffing a fund manager's chair, but Garcia wasn't normal. He was incredibly talented, very driven, and very studious. Still, I was a bit surprised that MDF even offered him the job, though I had little doubt he could handle it.

"Talk to us a bit about how Ramona Weston came to be a client."

Josh thought for a short moment before replying. "There are certain financial aspects I can't divulge without a warrant, but I know enough of detective work to know why you ask, so I think I can satisfy you without delving into privileged information. Ramona and Matias were in the middle of their divorce, and they were going to split their assets. Because most of those assets were in his name, he was simply going to pay her what he owed her in cash. Ramona asked Matias to give her 20% of the money outright and put the rest in some form of protected account. Since Matias knew our company well, he came to us and we set everything up. When the divorce was final, the money was transferred into the account we created here."

Josh continued, "Because of how things turned out, with Ramona marrying my son, I have no day-to-day involvement with either Jon's or Ramona's accounts; they are managed by one of our Advisors. I do see all aggregate results of the Advisors, because I own the company and need to be involved in their evaluations and mentoring, stuff like that. Beyond that, I do not see any individual accounts other than those I manage directly - unless the Advisor is not making money for his clients and we need to address specific problems - and again, I stay completely away from the accounts of Jon and Ramona. They are in capable hands...hands that are not mine. We have the SEC watching over all our dealings and, to date, there has never been an issue. Believe me; I do not want to be on the wrong side of them."

Chris had no further questions and he turned to Rita, who said, "I think you've cleared up the questions we have. Thanks for agreeing to see us and for your time."

Josh smiled, "It was my pleasure, and it was great to meet you and put faces to your names. Harry's opinion of the both of you seems well-founded." Handing each of them a card, he said, "If your situation ever changes and you need to move pension dollars, 401k monies, or the like, I hope you will consider Weston Wealth. All civil and military servants, active or retired, get their funds managed with no yearly fees of any kind."

As they walked to the car, Rita looked back at the facade of Josh Weston's building and sighed, "We're in the wrong line of work, Sam, at least financially."

Chris nodded and added, "You got that right. My salary isn't one tenth of what Matias made for Weston, and that's one tenth of what he made as a fund manager. It boggles the mind. I could own two Chargers!"

"And you could afford the flatbed truck you would need to drive them."

"You're all heart and good feelings."

"Yep, and I'm starved - rich or poor, this woman needs something to eat. Feed me, Christopher!"

"You hungry for tacos?" When Rita nodded, he continued. "There's a place just up and off the Interstate called Rocco's Tacos. Pretty good food and fast. A couple of my basketball buddies have taken me there a few times. They also have a good reputation for tequila, but it's not my thing. Interested?"

They sat in a corner of Rocco's on the same side of a small table and watched as the restaurant filled with the lunch crowd. They left work behind for the moment and just enjoyed each other. The two played a detective game, looking at the people sitting down and guessing whether they were co-workers, spouses, friends, or illicit trysts. Rita wanted to ask Chris about the woman in the DA's office that Diana mentioned, but didn't know how to do it casually, so she kept it to herself. Besides, if she brought it up, it might get him thinking about another woman, and frankly, she didn't really want that right now, either.

She could hear Chris talking, making a guess about the people seated a couple of tables away, but none of it really registered in the mental tunnel she unconsciously entered. She wondered if anyone else in the restaurant was playing the same game. What would their guess be about her and her partner? Despite their rules, Rita wanted others in the restaurant to see them as a couple, and she thought about ways to move closer to Chris without raising his suspicions. Drop something on the floor and slide over a bit as she picked it up. Maybe find a reason to take his hand briefly, or laugh at his comments and then casually touch his cheek with her lips. She began to flush a bit as she imagined him leaning over to whisper something to her, his warm breath tickling her ear as his nose gently brushed against her. Her head resting on his shoulder for a moment as he ran his hand up her arm...

"...going to get cold if you don't eat. Rita? Rita?"

The tunnel disappeared and the real world refocused. Chris was looking at her with a puzzled smile, his right hand on her forearm, a half-eaten taco in his left. "Are you okay, Rita?"

"Huh?...Uh, yeah, what?" she stammered, "I'm sorry, Sam, I must have zoned out."

Chris laughed. "I guess so. The food got here a couple minutes ago and you didn't even seem to notice. Your lunch isn't going to eat itself, and it's best when it's hot. You still haven't given me your guess about that table - the guy in the gray suit and the red-haired woman."

Rita shook the cobwebs from her mind, smiled at her own thoughts, and paid close attention to her plate. Chris was right; the food was excellent, despite the fact that her daydreaming had cost it a few degrees. Her partner took the bill from the waitress and was reaching for his wallet when his phone starting ringing. Handing her a pair of twenties, he answered. "Sergeant Lorenzo...yeah?" His expression turned stony and his head dropped as he listened. "Oh dear...ok, Rita, can you grab a pen and paper?" Rita opened her notebook and wrote as Chris spoke, "I-95 and the Hungryland Canal. We're on our way."

Chris hung up and shook his head as he looked at Rita. "Officers located Jen Schmidt. She's in her minivan at the bridge over the Hungryland Canal on I-95."

"And...?" Rita asked the question, but she pretty much knew what was coming, and could already feel the anguish building for Todd and the children.

Chris took a deep breath and exhaled. "A nine millimeter through the temple." Rita closed her eyes, took his hand, and groaned quietly while Chris stared outside and continued, "You know, I love my job when we catch the bad guys, but these are the days I really hate it. I'm not sure if the officers called Diana, so you might want to do that." They got up and Chris led them out, not waiting for his change and deciding the extra tip would be a nice surprise for the good service and food they received.

As they headed back north, Rita called Diana, who was just starting her car - the officers had indeed let her know of their discovery. They drove in silence for a couple of minutes before Rita turned to Chris. "I'm guessing a warrant for last night's video camera footage from Rupert's place should be obtainable now. I'll call the Captain and have him get with George. It's a quarter to one, so if they move quickly, the officers picking up the computers can look at that while they're on-premises. I'll be sure they also cover the logs from the passkey system."

Chris nodded but said nothing, and Rita could sense something was bothering him, more than just another corpse to process. She watched her partner from the corner of her eye and could see his hands tightly gripping the wheel as he drove. His lips were moving, as if he was whispering something to himself. Several times, he turned to look out his side window, almost as if he was avoiding her. He would then glance at her, looking as though she had caught him in the middle of something, and smile thinly at her - a smile she returned. Yeah, something was absolutely eating at his mind.

When the two detectives arrived at the Canal, there was no minivan, though there were several police cars in the runoff area to the left of the road. Chris pulled in behind the other cars and they got out, looking around. An officer walked up and said, "The vehicle is below the bridge, so you'll need to walk back, then go around and down below. A fisherman passing in his boat saw the van, otherwise, who knows how long it would have taken us to find it?"

Jen was sitting in the driver's seat, slumped over, with her forehead resting against the top of the steering wheel. Chris walked around the front of the van towards the passenger side, took a quick look around and then up at the bridge above him. The minivan was sitting in the open, but perfectly situated so that it was invisible from the road above. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and asked in a half-whisper, "Jennifer, how did you get yourself down here?" They were his first words since leaving the restaurant.

Rita looked at her partner and asked, "Suicide?" One of the officers standing there immediately responded, "We certainly don't think so. There is no gun. So unless someone stopped by and took it, we're looking at a homicide." Rite nodded in agreement, "Yeah, I think you're right. So let's figure out how this happened."

Chris opened the passenger door and inspected the passenger area. "We've got quite a bit of blood and matter over here. It's between the seat and the door and on the passenger window." Leaning into the cabin, he added, "And there's some blood on the carpet in the center."

Rita inspected Jen's body, speaking to Chris as she did. "A single gunshot to the temple, the entrance wound seems to be here on the left side." Leaning in and turning Jen's head as best she could so she could see the right side, "and this appears to be the exit wound...hmmm..." She continued with the more delicate parts of the inspection, careful to be as discrete as possible. "Jen still has her underwear intact and there's no bruising or bleeding. It does not appear that she was assaulted before she was killed. She's cold and in full rigor, so I guess she's been dead at least 12 hours...around midnight maybe. Diana can probably be more precise when she gets here. Jen still has her wedding ring, and here's her purse..." Opening it up and inspecting its contents, she finished with, "...there are three credit or debit cards and about $100 in cash along with her license. This does not look like a robbery. Same as Matias...hmmm."

Chris turned away and began checking the ground around the vehicle. He bent down to look more closely and began walking east - parallel to the canal - careful to watch for snakes and alligators that lurked in these areas. As he came out from under the bridge and into the sunlight, he looked back to the south and nodded, then walked back to Rita.

Rita watched him and asked, "What have you got?"

"There are tracks in the grass that go out from under the bridge and then back to the south. So I'm thinking she left I-95 back up the road a bit, drove through the grass along the east edge of the road, parked here, and got shot...?" Chris looked at Rita and squinted, clearly questioning his own conclusion. "Does that sound right to you? It doesn't to me."

Rita shook her head. "No, it doesn't. It appears she was shot on the left side, but all of the mess is on the passenger side of the cabin. Ok, so what if she was in the passenger seat when she was shot and then moved to the driver seat?"

Chris nodded. "Yes, and the little bit of blood in center is from her body being moved from one side to the other. So maybe she wasn't alo..."

A shout behind them caused them both to pull back from the van and turn. A female officer, with hands gloved, was holding something up. Even from fifty feet away, they could see it was a pair of latex gloves. "And they have blood on them," the officer shouted above the rumbling din of the traffic above them.

Chris continued. "Ok, she definitely wasn't alone and now this is definitely a homicide. So she was accosted in her car, driven down here, and murdered."

Rita thought for a moment. "Todd reported that Rupert called her last night and she left for the office. What if she met with Rupert? She was upset that we knew about her affair. So maybe she tells Rupert it's finally over; he gets mad, drags her out here, and kills her in his anger."

Chris replied, "Well, that's the best theory we have so far, but I'm not ready to commit. Rupert doesn't strike me as the type, though I could be wrong. We need find out if she was really at the office last night. That will give us a sure course of action."

"I think I can see how the killer got into the van." An officer came around from the back of the vehicle and motioned for the two of them to come back. "The tailgate lock has been punched. You can see it here." Chris and Rita studied the mechanism with the officer, who showed them the subtle manipulation of the lock. "Whoever did this knew what they were doing. This was pretty sophisticated."

Chris put his hands on his hips, took a quick look around, and then said to Rita, "Rupert and Jennifer knew each other better than anyone. He would have no need to break into her car to commit this crime. Just create a pretext to ride with her, then take over, bring her here, and do the deed. Unless he jimmied the lock afterwards to throw us off."

Rita nodded, "But how would he know to do mess with the lock just this way?"

The officer with them agreed. "Yeah, this was the work of a pro."

Rita pushed on, "Rupert's definitely involved in some way. He called her last night. Her husband said she headed to the office. It appears she was headed north, so back towards home, when she was killed. But I'm with you, Chris. I'm really stretching to pin the crime on him. It doesn't feel right yet."

Diana arrived and her initial assessment pretty much concurred with Rita's - Jennifer's death occurred sometime the night before, probably before midnight. She continued, "And I can probably agree that she wasn't raped, but I'll know for sure when I do the full inspection. She looks really young, early thirties?"

Rita nodded. "Yeah, thirty-two, and she was married with three young children."

Diana's face turned grim and she said quietly, "That poor man..." to which Chris added, "You have no idea..."

Once Jennifer's body had been removed, Chris and Rita spent a little more time walking the area looking for additional clues while officers continued processing the crime scene, lifting fingerprints and photographing the scene. As they finished up, Harry called Rita with an update.

"Officers have been to the Schmidt residence and notified Todd of Jen's murder. He's understandably crushed, but working hard to maintain for the children. His parents live in Hialeah and they're heading up to watch the kids so Todd can come down, confirm the ID, and talk to us."

Rita walked around the car one last time. "We should be back in the office within the hour, so we'll speak with him as well if necessary."

Harry's response was immediate. "Not before you make another stop. We got a warrant for the security footage from Jen's office and officers just took an initial look at it. She was there last night and the computer access system confirms it. Rupert Mitchell lied to you and has some explaining to do. Go get him. Now!"

"We'll bring him in." Rita hung up and turned to Chris. "Well, color me surprised. Rupert Mitchell has moved to the top of our list. Let's pay him a visit."

The drive to MultiDimensional headquarters was accomplished mostly in silence. As Rita drove, Chris looked out the passenger window, rubbing his hand across his mouth. Whatever was bothering Chris earlier had not gone away, and Rita tried to get it out of him. "Christopher, what's on your mind? Have I done something to upset you? You've barely spoken since lunch."

"No, you're fine. I'm sorry. I've just been thinking about Todd and feeling badly for him."

Rita nodded in agreement and said, "Yeah, I feel terrible for him as well, and when everything else comes out, he's going to be filled with rage. Rupert Mitchell will not want to meet Todd Schmidt in a dark alley."

Chris chuckled and looked back out his window. Nope, Rita thought, she knew her partner too well. He was lying. While Todd's situation may have been on his mind, it wasn't really what was troubling him. There was something else, and it would come out eventually, but she would have to be patient, and work him slowly. She left him with his thoughts and finished the drive downtown.

Rupert Mitchell was still in his office when the partners arrived. "You're back so soon. How can I help you this afternoon?"

Rita didn't hesitate. "Well, for starters, you can tell us why you lied to us about Jen Schmidt coming to the office last night. Did you think we wouldn't discover the truth? Your electronic systems record every employee that passes the door and the cameras provide the pictures."

Rupert looked unconcerned as he responded, "She wasn't here. I wasn't even here. In fact, I don't think anyone was here last night."

Chris looked at Rupert, incredulous that this man could just out-and-out lie as he had earlier in the morning, and then continue the lie when confronted with the truth...unless...he immediately played his hunch. "Rupert, you do know we have seen the office camera footage from last night and looked at your building's access records, right?"

It was as though Rupert had been whacked with a two-by-four upside the head. "You had no right to access that information without a warrant. Not another word from you...", as he pushed a button on his phone and spoke in a harsh tone. "William, get in here now!"

Despite the distance between their desks, William was in the doorway almost immediately, looking more than a bit nervous.

"William, I need you to place a call to my attorney, instructing him to begin an illegal search claim against the Palm Beach Police Department. They unlawfully gained access to our security systems. You had better tell me you know nothing about this."

William looked at the floor and cleared his throat, "Actually, Mr. Mitchell, officers came with a warrant for both the cameras and computer data while you were at lunch. They took it when they picked up the gear Matias was using."

Mitchell's face was beginning to turn red and his voice was gaining in volume. "Then why wasn't I informed when I returned? For what, exactly, did I hire you?"

The two detectives watched William take a deep breath, holding back his own frustration, and respond coolly, "I did inform you. I called your mobile phone as soon as they arrived - a call you were clearly too busy to answer. I left a message on your service - a message you were clearly too busy to listen to. I placed the warrant right there...", William pointed to some papers lying below Rupert's reading glasses, "...but clearly you've been too busy to read it. And I stopped you when you walked in the building, but you told me you were busy. That's why you hired me, sir."

Rupert fumbled around with some words, trying and failing to work an angle with the officers in front of him. Finally, Chris asked him point-blank, "Mr. Mitchell, why don't you just tell us the truth?"

Mitchell sighed, dismissed William back to his desk, and waited until he was gone before speaking. "Ok, yes, Jen was here last night. I called her on the pretext of helping deal with Matias' death, but wanted to let her know that she would probably be questioned regarding Matias. That was it."

"So you had her drive all the way from home - where she had a sick child - to tell her something you could have discussed in fifteen minutes on the phone?" Rita wasn't going to waste time in niceties; she was circling her prey.

Rupert shrugged and responded, "Well, I needed to have a meeting with her."

Rita glared at him, hands on her hips. "Seriously? You're actually saying that to me? I suppose you were planning to meet in the Board Room, and we know what that entails. Wow!"

The CEO continued, "Look, she got here and was very upset. She said two detectives - I assume now she meant the two of you - had visited her. She said you knew all about our affair and was terrified it would come out in the Garcia investigation. She said Todd would be furious and probably divorce her. She would lose her kids. Her in-laws would hate her. Her parents, who are devout Christians, would be furious with her. She told me she wanted to end our relationship. I tried to calm her down, but she was having none of it. We argued and she left. That's it."

"And that was the last time you saw her? What time was that?" Rita was giving no quarter and wondered why Chris wasn't talking. He was jotting notes down, but they normally sparred together, and this was a solo act.

"Yeah. We talked, we argued, she went to her office for about twenty minutes and I was in mine, and then she left. I don't know - ten, ten thirty or so. I stayed a little longer and then left as well."

Rita barely let him stop speaking before zeroing in again. "And where is Jen now? We would like to speak with her."

"I gave Jen the day off - with pay. I told her to go home, get some rest, spend today with Todd and the kids, and come back tomorrow. You should probably head to Port St. Lucie."

"How incredibly generous of you, but Jen isn't in Port St. Lucie. She didn't return home last night and her husband reported her missing this morning."

For the first time, Rupert's arrogance cracked a bit, replaced by a hint of worry. "Wait a minute. Are you laying some sort of trap here for me? Are you trying to catch me in a falsehood? What's going on?"

Chris finally spoke up. "We've already caught you in a falsehood, one serious enough to earn you an arrest."

Mitchell's cockiness returned immediately. "That's ridiculous," he said with a brush of his hand. "Last I checked, a lie is not an arrest-able offense."

"It is when it obstructs a criminal investigation." Rita was in her 'relentless' mode, and Chris loved watching her work. "I'll bet you have a lawyer on retainer - I hope his number is on speed-dial."

"What cri...?"

Rita didn't even let him finish. "We are investigating the murder of Jennifer Schmidt, and you are the last person known to have seen her alive."

Rupert staggered back with eyes wide open and slumped down in his chair. "Oh my g...you can't be serious!"

Rita moved immediately behind Rupert, raised him from his seat, and put cuffs on him. "You're not under arrest...yet. But I'm reading you your rights." After Mirandizing him and confirming he understood, she asked, "Do you own any firearms?"

Rupert responded with his own questions. "What happened to Jen? Where is she? For the love of all that's good, tell me what's going on!" He was beginning to lose control and appeared to be on the verge of hyperventilating.

Rita ignored him. "Get a grip on yourself, Rupert! Do you own any firearms?"

Rupert was starting to sob and stammered, "Of course I own firearms - who doesn't? Tell me about Jen, please!"

Rita set Rupert back down in his chair - a bit firmly - and spoke with an angry edge in her voice. "All in good time, Mr. Mitchell, as if you don't already know."

Chris walked out of Rupert's office and called for William, who quickly walked back and gave a prompt, "Yes, sir?"

"I need to know if Rupert keeps any firearms in this office."

"Yeah, he has a couple of them. There's a small safe in that file cabinet there on the left, third drawer, in the back."

Rita looked hard at Rupert, who looked from Chris to Rita, and gasped, "You can't possibly believe I had anything to do with Jen's death. Why would I want her dead?" His act was somewhat convincing and he seemed genuinely distraught, but there would be time for the 'good cop' act later. She walked to the file cabinet, opened it, and looked inside.

She turned and glared at the blubbering Mitchell, spitting out, "The key, Rupert?"

He nodded down and to the right. "Top drawer on the right, under the paperweight, but there's no way I killed anyone, especially Jennifer."

Rita put on gloves, found the key, unlocked the safe, and examined the contents. "Well, you've told the truth at least once today." She inventoried his small arsenal as she removed them. "Let's see...wow, a .45 Colt...a .357, play a little _Dirty Harry_ on your free weekends? You definitely go for the big iron...and..." she reached back in a third time, "...well, what have we here? Chris?"

Her partner walked over and inspected the pistol she was holding. "Looks like a nine mil to me, Sergeant Lance." He sniffed the barrel as she held it. "And it's been fired very recently. Naughty, naughty, Mr. Mitchell," he said without a smile.

"Please! You have to believe me", Rupert whined. "I didn't kill Jennifer."

Rita showed little compassion for her suspect. "Somebody did, Mr. Mitchell. Whoever it was ventilated her skull with a nine-millimeter slug. And right now, you're the best-looking suspect for the crime."

Rita took him by the arm, raised him from his chair, and placed him under arrest.

"I swear on my mother's grave, I didn't kill her. I want my attorney!"

Rita directed Rupert toward the door of his office and said, "Have him meet us downtown when you call, because that's where you're headed."

While the two of them were in the interrogation room with Mitchell and his lawyer, it was again Rita that did most of the talking. After ninety minutes, it was clear there wasn't going to be much progress. Mitchell steadfastly maintained his innocence, claiming that Jen had taken off almost a half-hour before he did and that he had gone straight home when he left. He also claimed he shot his guns the previous Saturday at an indoor range, something he did almost every weekend. He had yet to clean them, because that was a job he often did on slow Friday afternoons. And that was about all they could get from him.

Donovan told Rupert's lawyer there was no way he would consider releasing his client from even a discretionary hold until ballistics testing was completed on Rupert's pistol. "Your client has a reasonable motive for killing Jen, definite means, and definite opportunity. And he probably has more money in his coin purse than I make in a year. He could be out of the country before I finish tonight's dessert - no way he will be cut loose. He'll spend the night here on the taxpayers and we'll see what tomorrow brings."

Todd Schmidt had already left headquarters after the painful task of identifying his wife and Harry said he headed home to be with his now-motherless children. He told the Captain he knew there would be more questions to answer. "But for tonight," Harry concluded, "Todd has requested that we leave him alone and give him the evening to be with his family. He has to figure out how to tell a three-year-old little girl that mommy isn't coming home anymore." Harry shook his head sadly. "Jen's parents have been contacted and will be arriving from Ann Arbor tomorrow morning. It's just six, so you might as well head home, get a bite to eat and some rest, and we'll pick this up in the morning. Todd plans to be here early to talk with you, and of course, Mitchell won't be going anywhere for a while."

The two detectives walked to their cars, which happened to be next to each other in the rapidly-emptying parking lot. Rita turned to Chris and said, "What a day! Do you think we got our man?"

With his hands in his pockets, Chris looked down at the ground, then back at his partner. "Honestly? I'm not sure we did. He seems believable, but I could be wrong. Ballistics will either clear him or nail him to the wall. I like him even less for the Garcia murder, but maybe we'll find the fifty in his home."

"Maybe." Rita had already ceased thinking about work. "Listen, it's still pretty early and I've got lots of leftovers from last night. Would you like to come over and help me polish them off? A little food, a little TV, maybe a movie. What do you say?"

Chris glanced away and back over his shoulder. His hesitation made Rita more earnest, and she put her hand on his arm. "Christopher, if you'd rather not, that's alright, I just want you to know you're welcome."

He looked at her, gauging her interest, then realized he was staring, knowing he could drown in those eyes and die a happy man. He caught himself and responded with, "Yeah, I think I'd like that. How about I follow you?"

"Great!" Rita got in her car, gave a little fist pump, and whispered a "yes!" as she turned the key and looked to see Chris close his door. Step one to getting Chris to talk to her was complete.

The two of them headed towards her place, completely unaware that Chris' decision had saved his partner's life.

"So - I've never been to Rocco's before. It was really good, to the point that I'd eat there again," Rita said as she walked out after changing her clothes. Chris' strange silence had carried over from work to off-duty, and Rita was struggling to hold up two ends of a mostly one-sided conversation with her talking and him offering little more than one-word responses and nods and grunts.

She was glad he was helping her out, getting the table set while following her around and picking up after her. Thanks to him, post-dinner clean up was going to be a snap, but he was completely lost in thought. She waited for him to follow up her lunch comment, and when nothing came, she shrugged, pulled the leftovers from the oven, and put them on the table.

Dinner was finished with mostly small talk and silence. Rita felt badly for whatever was gnawing at Chris, but she was getting a bit frustrated with him. He was keeping his feelings to himself while simultaneously letting her know, loud and clear, that something was wrong. She simply wanted her partner to talk with her – get off his chest whatever was on it.

Chris turned down the offer of a beer with his dessert. Instead, he selected a Coke from the fridge, took his plate, sat down on the end of the sofa, and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. Rita purposely took the center of the couch, next to him, and dug into her dessert. He leaned over, gave her a peck on the cheek, and thanked her for the invite and the dinner. She looked down and smiled, trying not to show too much emotion, and patted his knee. They ate quietly for a few minutes, interrupted only by Chris telling her how good Diana's cookie bars were, before Rita decided enough was enough, and began her probe.

"I'm really glad you're here - this was a tough day for me. When Cap got that call this morning and told us Jen was missing, I knew something terrible had happened to her."

"Is that what had you so preoccupied at lunch?"

Rita looked at him, knowing he would probably chuckle if she told the truth, but was still afraid of any possible rejection. "Not exactly," she half lied, "but I did think about it. What about you? You were really quiet after we were told of Jen's death."

He took a bite and answered. "Yeah, this one hit a little harder than usual. Maybe it was a little closer to home for me."

Was he going to open up this quickly? She turned on the sofa to face him. "What made it so close to home, Chris? We've dealt with death for years."

Her partner looked at her, then looked down and away. No! He was shutting down again. She added quickly, "It was hard for me because she was so young, and I think of those brokenhearted little children. Todd Schmidt has a difficult task ahead of him."

"No kidding. I'm really glad I don't have to be in his home tonight. That would be terrible," he continued. "I can only imagine what I'd be feeling if I lo..." He caught himself and paused, looking straight at Rita.

"...if you what, Christopher?"

"Well..."

"Come on, how many times have you talked with me - about anything? Talk to me now. I know something has been bothering you. You don't hide things well."

"It's just, you know, thinking about Todd finding out his wife had been murdered." Chris was stammering through his thoughts while twirling the spoon in his hand. "It got me thinking if I lost someone so close to me. Just how awful that would be. To be perfectly honest," he looked down again, "how it would feel if I lost you."

Rita smiled at her partner's sentiment. "That's very sweet, but you haven't lost..."

"Listen Rita, our jobs can be dangerous, and you've been in danger - serious danger - way too many times for my comfort. There have been so many narrow escapes. It wasn't long ago that all of us thought you were dead - that you'd been killed in the home invasion that ended Trisha Veil's life. That was right here in your apartment. I told you how painful that time was for me, and I think about it every single day. Right after that, Brent tried to kill you in that drug business. Had I gotten to that boat one minute later..." he looked away as his voiced cracked a bit, "...y...you'd be gone."

Rita said nothing, but reached over and put her hand on his shoulder as he continued.

"So then we visit this lady last night, about the same age as us, and four hours later, she has a bullet through the brain...dead." He wasn't looking at her, but she could actually see a tear running down the channel on the side of his nose. "And her husband is left to fix a shattered life." He paused a few moments to think, took a deep breath, and exhaled. "When we got that call at lunch, all this stuff just came back and kind of messed with me this afternoon. It was all I could think about, Sam...what if it was you in that van?" He shook his head and concluded, "I don't even know what I would do...how I would pick up the pieces."

He was quiet, so she pulled her knees up under her and put her cheek next to his. With her arms around his neck, "I wasn't in that van, Christopher," she said quietly with a kiss on his cheek, "and you weren't a minute late, so you kept Brent from...finishing the job," she said with a smile and another kiss on his cheek, one that lingered just a fraction longer than the first.

"Look at me, Chris. I never have to wonder if you'll be here for me, because you just are. You are always beside me, even when we're apart doing other things. And when it's my time to go, whether it's off-duty or on-the-job, I'll never wonder where you are, because I know you'll be moving heaven and earth to protect me, to save me. It's not just what you do, it's who you are."

Chris sniffled and ran his hands over his eyes, and Rita broke her embrace long enough to grab some Kleenex for him. She could tell he was embarrassed by his display, but she ignored it. He blew his nose and laughed through his emotions. "Promise me you'll quit the force tomorrow and take up decoupage or knitting. Then I'll have peace."

Rita laughed in turn and said, "You're hopeless, but I'll quit if you quit, too."

"Yeah, right. Ok, I give. You stay a homicide cop and I'll stay your partner so I can keep an eye on you."

"Two eyes, I hope," Rita said with a smile and a wink as she got up. "You want seconds on dessert? I do." When he said sure, she took his plate to the kitchen, subtly wiping away a tear of her own as she went. Chris watched her go, grateful for her.

They sat together on the sofa and watched television. It was a bit chilly, so Rita draped a blanket over them and snuggled into Chris. When he looked at her, she asked, "Are you alright with this?" He didn't hesitate at all. "Of course I am." He put his arm around her and she smiled through half-lidded eyes. There was that look, Chris thought, the look that just lit him up. He knew that if he wasn't a gentleman, this would be the time he would make a move on her. But he couldn't, because he was a gentleman, and she didn't want him that way, and if he tried she would stop him, and that would ruin the moment. No way he wanted that to happen, so he pushed his thoughts back to a more pure level, and just enjoyed feeling her against him.

Rita wondered what Diana would say if she saw the two of them. She tried hard not to think about what her friend had said the night before, but that was difficult, because Chris was so good to her, so considerate, and so gracious. Frankly, she couldn't believe he hadn't settled down with someone. But I'm really glad he hasn't, she thought to herself. She was content, just like an old married couple, well, maybe a young married couple. If this was what 'in love' felt like, she could maybe like it. But do I really love him that way, she asked in her mind. She wanted to do something - brush his leg, touch his thigh, throw herself on him and let all abandon go - but she couldn't. They had rules, and Chris probably didn't want her like that - well, he was a guy, he probably did want her, but why take the chance - and she didn't want to be rejected. And then she was asleep.

"No, I haven't taken care of her. She is not alone. He hasn't left and I don't think he's going to." The man's Spanish was crisp and rapid, just one of five languages he spoke fluently. He was walking slowly on the beach and speaking into a mobile phone, while looking at a building a few hundred feet away where his subject of interest was currently sleeping. His car - a dark green sedan - was parked a couple of blocks away under a tree, out of the glow of the streetlights. There were walkers on the beach despite the chill of the evening, but he moved around, expertly staying out of earshot while maintaining the appearance of a casual stroll.

"Then take care of both of them. You know what they are probably doing in there. They will be oblivious to the world around them and you'll be done before they even know you're inside. My boss wants her eliminated, but do both if necessary." The second voice - also that of a man - spoke in Spanish as well and was very impatient.

The man stopped walking and responded immediately and sharply. "Don't tell me how to do my business! The woman, she is very beautiful, and I want to take my time. I want her partner and lover to find her not beautiful. But I will not walk into an unknown place with two guns against me. I will control the situation. Also, I was paid for the woman. You want the man? That's going to cost extra."

There was a sharp intake of breath and a pause on the other side of the call. "How much?"

The man on the beach thought for a moment. "One hundred fifty thousand in the Cayman account and a private jet on the tarmac, fueled and piloted, ready to fly me to where I tell him when I board - no pre-arranged flight plan."

The impatient man uttered a string of curses in Spanish. "Are you insane? You are being paid seventy-five for the woman. As for the plane - who do you think you are? James Bond? That's nonsense."

"No it's not," came the response, "I kill one officer, they come after me. I kill two officers? They halt the planet until I'm found. I want to be very hard to find, and well-funded and well-defended when they do. So you decide. I handle the woman and you pay a lot. I handle both and you pay a lot more. The choice is yours. But regardless, I will do it my way in the conditions of my choosing. Tonight is not looking favorable."

There were more curses on the line before the impatient voice relented, "Just the woman, and you have forty-eight hours - your time starts now. One minute late and the deal's off."

The man on the beach smiled and laughed into the phone. "You will not threaten me. I do it my way, in my time. But it will get done and if you refuse to pay, that's fine. I know your enemies and I know your boss' enemies. I will go to them and offer my services - with you as the targets. And when I have killed the both of you, I'll get paid. So again, you pick. I will either be paid by you, or for you. Am I hard to understand?"

The voice on the other end finished with, "Just get it done," and the line went dead. The man paused long enough to put the phone inside his jacket and run his hand up the sheath holding his twelve-inch Bowie knife before he resumed his walk and continued to observe.


	4. Thursday

Chris whistled quietly as he bustled around the kitchen, preparing what he jokingly called an Italian omelet. In truth, there was nothing Italian about it other than the inclusion of mozzarella and Parmesan cheese, but he had made it for Rita on several occasions and she rolled her eyes at the name every time. He was taking a sip of his coffee when she came out of her room and paused for a moment, observing his activity. She wagered Diana would really, really have something to say about this.

"Good morning, Chris. That smells fantastic!"

"I hope so, schweethawt," he said with a wink, giving her his best Bogart. "I'm just finishing up my famous Italian omelet," which, true to form, was rewarded with a roll of the eyes, "along with a little bacon, buttered toast, and coffee. Everything's hot if you're ready to eat."

"Where did you find the bacon? I had no idea there was any in the fridge." She took her plate, said thank you, and sat down at the table.

"There wasn't, but I saw a small pig roaming the beach and, well..." his voice trailed off with a laugh when she cocked her head and rolled her eyes yet again. "Hey, they invented bacon, you know. Actually, you have some in the freezer that's perfectly good." He sat down beside her and they began to eat.

Chris shut the TV off around nine the night before and started thumbing through a book Rita had on the coffee table. She slept on the couch with him until nearly eleven, and then woke in a haze. When he suggested she head back to her room, she told him to come to bed with her. He nearly choked in surprise until he realized she was too groggy to know what she said. Since he was paying close attention to the better angels of his nature, he simply told her to go ahead and he'd be there in a few minutes. Then he rearranged the blanket, removed his shirt and shoes, and went to sleep, not even bothering to turn off the light.

"Thank you, again, for breakfast. This is becoming a bit of a trend."

"Well, it's a trend that I'm not minding too much," Chris said with a smile, "Look, Sam, it's a quarter to seven and you're ready to go, but I'm not. I think I'll head home, get showered and changed, and meet you at the store. All you have to wash is our eating dishes. Everything else is done."

"Sounds good, partner." She leaned over, gave him a kiss on the cheek – telling herself the kisses were probably going to have to stop because they were starting to come a little too easily - and a smile, "Thanks again and I'll see you later."

Chris had only been gone a few minutes when there was a quiet knock on the door. Rita squinted, puzzled at who needed her before seven in the morning, but got up and opened the door. There he stood, with dirty hands and yesterday's work shirt folded over his arm.

Rita laughed and shook her head, "What is it this time?"

Chris looked at her with a helpless grin. "The new alternator must be defective. The car started fine, but the generator light is on and it will die before I make it home. I'm so sorry, but can I have a lift to my place? I know it's a little out-of-the-way, but I'll call the shop right at seven and hopefully they'll get it fixed up quick. I left the key up inside the front bumper so they'll have it."

Rita sat on a kitchen stool and watched Chris vault up the steps. When she woke on the sofa last night, Chris was still there, and she had been in the middle of a rather steamy dream in which he played the lead role. When he told her to turn in, she had invited him to join her. He had said yes, so she had gone back, undressed except for a tank top, and crawled into bed to wait before drifting off a few minutes later. This morning, she was very grateful he stayed on the couch, but last night, she wanted him badly and would have let him have his way with her. She heard the water start, and the thought came to her to go up, shuck off her clothes, and slither into the shower behind him. What would he do? Would he chase her out or would he turn around and face her amidst the spray and the steam, put his arms around her and kiss her gently,… "Ok, this has to stop!" Rita said aloud after taking a deep breath, "It's getting out of hand." She shook her head clear and looked around for something else to occupy her mind.

As they pulled into the parking lot, Rita told Chris that she called the auto repair shop while he was showering. "I hope that's alright. I happened to see the receipt from Monday's job on your counter. I gave them my address and told them about the key. They will come get the car, do their best to have it done today, and then deliver it here so you can drive it home tonight. Pretty nice, huh?"

"That's great, thanks for taking care of that. In my rush to get ready it slipped my mind."

Todd Schmidt arrived only a few minutes after they sat down with their coffee. He looked decent, despite the circumstances, and he was well-controlled, even though most of last night's sleeping hours had eluded him. However, the conversation was very difficult for everyone. "The girls are home from school with my parents, and Jen's folks should be landing around ten - I'll be picking them up. I'm sure it's the worst flight of their lives. I have no clue how this whole...process - funeral stuff - works. Do you have any idea why this happened or who could have done this?"

"We're so incredibly sorry for all you've been through," Rita said softly, before going on to explain the possible connection between his wife's death and that of Matias Garcia. She also told him that they had made an initial arrest. "Her boss, Rupert Mitchell, was the last person to see her alive. He confessed to having an argument with her before she left two nights ago, and he has a nine-millimeter pistol that we are testing as a possible match to the bullet that killed your wife. But everything is still very preliminary and very fluid."

Todd was stunned that Rupert was somehow involved, and it was Chris' painful task to reveal the details of Jen's long-running affair with her boss and her embarrassment with it being made public. Her husband was enraged, but was also desperate to keep the details quiet for the sake of his now-broken family. "The kids wouldn't understand at all, and Jen's parents would be devastated, even more than they are now. She was a great mother to the girls and a good daughter to her parents. As much as is possible, I want to preserve that image. Eventually, everyone will need to know, but for now...and someday, Rupert Mitchell is a dead man!"

Rita put her hand up and spoke quickly, "I think you're speaking in anger, but let me remind you that a dead mother and a father behind bars is no life for your daughters. I completely understand your feelings toward him regarding the affair - I'd feel the same way." She also reminded him, very delicately, that his wife's activities were consensual and had been going on for more than a decade. "And remember; while we've made an arrest, it's a very long road from here to conviction. Let us do our jobs to find whoever did this, whether it's Rupert or someone else, and you do your job - take care of those girls. They need you now more than ever!"

The two detectives spent the rest of the morning with officers at Rupert's home looking for evidence. Much like Matias Garcia, Rupert enjoyed luxury living, and his sprawling estate, located on the water on Ocean Boulevard, took a while to search. They found some cocaine and an impressive collection of handguns and long guns in a couple of cabinets, but nothing appeared to match the weapon used to murder Garcia. Furthermore, Harry called to tell them that Rupert's pistol was not a match to the bullet that killed Jen Schmidt.

Chris responded to Harry while holding Rita's attention, "Rita, Cap says ballistics are negative on Mitchell's nine. Ok, so either our playboy ditched the gun he used or he isn't our killer. But we have a dozen ounces of coke here, which is borderline 'intent to distribute' - or enough to get him to tell us anything he knows in exchange for a bit of leniency."

"I'll give Donovan the news and he can get to work. But I'm sure he will want to visit with you both about how to proceed, so get in here when you can." Harry wished them 'happy hunting', which Chris thought was totally out-of-character for Cap, and hung up chuckling and looking at the phone in disbelief.

When they finished at Rupert's place, it was on to Matias' home, which was just a few minutes away. The two of them walked the grounds, looking for anything that would shed light on his death. Chris made sure to check the garages, looking for evidence…and as an excuse to see the vehicles parked there. The 911 was still there and still beautiful. There was also the Camaro he glimpsed the other evening. It was a lovingly restored 1970 model that looked to be in pristine condition. Next to it sat a Chevelle SS, a big-block powerhouse that was partially disassembled and awaiting a restoration of its own. A glorious Porsche 930 Turbo occupied the next stall and Chris ran his hand over the door, just so he could say he had once touched one. Finally, there was an Audi 5000 Turbo, probably his daily driver. It was an impressive little collection, but the garage held no other secrets that he could see, just cars and lawn equipment and the computer for the sprinklers.

Chris was finishing when he heard Rita calling. He took a last, longing look at the vehicles, then walked to the back patio and found her standing by one of the stucco columns. There were four of them, each twelve feet tall and each placed in a corner of the cobblestone patio, all supporting a pergola with manicured vines running through it. "So I was walking around the yard, then checked out the patio here, and got my," she lifted her left shoe, "heel stuck in between one of these cobbles - broke it! Anyways, I lost my balance and when I put my hands on this column to catch myself, look what I found." She moved some of the vines that were running up the column and there was a small switch. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a switch of some kind," he answered with a snicker.

"Duh, Sherlock."

"Lights? Maybe a gas fire-pit thingy?"

"Really? A 'thingy'?" Rita laughed, then shook her head and pointed back towards the sliding glass panels that opened from the main living area to the patio. "There's a panel for those right over there, including the 'thingy' - I checked."

"Hmmm...did you try it? I doubt it will blow us up or anything."

"I did, but I can't tell what it controls. I don't see anything happening and I can't hear anything running, either, like a motor or servo."

Chris raised his eyebrows, "Servo? Impressive!"

"Gee thanks, Chris. I'm not a total idiot when it comes to electronics," she said, laughing again as she spoke and looking at the broken shoe. "But since I'm a bit hobbled, could you walk around while I turn the switch on and off? Maybe we can figure it out. It might be broken or non-functioning, but a single switch all by itself on a patio column hidden behind the vines is intriguing."

He walked around the yard as she periodically moved the switch and called out 'up' and 'down' with each change. He had disappeared around the south side and Rita had just called "up" when she heard him shout.

"Rita, come here! You've got to see this!"

She walked around to the south side, which was a twelve-foot-wide lane of grass bordered by the house and a privacy fence. Chris was standing right in the middle looking down. As Rita approached, she could see he was clearly excited, though she saw nothing but yard.

"Ok, check this out," he pointed to his feet, "Stand right here and watch."

He ran back to the patio and a moment later she heard him call out 'down'. She heard the faint whirring of a motor and a three-foot-by-eight-foot section of the ground in front of her began to sink down. Her jaw dropped as the ground descended more than a foot, then slid to the left, revealing what looked like a five-foot-deep sarcophagus. It was perfectly clean, made of concrete and lined with a thick coat of clear polyurethane. Chris came running up and asked, "So, pretty awesome, right? Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Rita looked up and replied with, "Whoa! I'm not sure, but I'm thinking we just found what the Feds were looking for."

Chris jumped in and looked around before whistling. "This is really impressive! The lid is concrete as well and is at least five inches thick. It probably weighs a ton! The hydraulics that move this are whisper-quiet. Must be top-of-the-line. There are at least five inches of soil on top of that and then grass. Look at the beveling on the edges. I bet it's airtight and watertight when closed. Someone is very serious about keeping the contents in here clean and dry. Any guesses as to what?"

"Well, bodies would stack nicely in there," Rita said with a smile, "but so would large amounts of cocaine and other not-so-nice things. So Matias was in the business...hmmm."

Chris nodded, "Apparently, and if so, then I was wrong in my guess about him."

"And so was Carla Garcia, if you recall," his partner added. "So now we have to figure out why he was killed. Probably rivalry or revenge, that's the usual thing."

"Probably. You have your camera?" When she nodded, he said, "Good. We should take a couple pictures, grab a quick bite, then head back. We need to talk to Donovan."

As the two detectives took care of business back at the office, the afternoon progressed towards evening. The sun arced westward before dropping into the clouds that gathered above the horizon. A Lexus LS400 made its way down Middle Road; as nondescript a car as one would expect to see in this neighborhood, before pulling in the driveway of Matias Garcia's home. Raul Esposo, the groundskeeper, got out and surveyed the yard. Mowing could wait a couple more days, unless those clouds in the distance brought rain.

He entered the garage door, ignoring the caution tape that had been set up and the cars that Chris had ogled just a few hours before. He stopped to check the computer that controlled the timers on the sprinklers and the outside lights. Everything looked good. He punched a few keys on the keyboard and the display changed, bringing up the security cameras located around the property. No issues there, either. Just before he left, he entered a final sequence of commands to the computer and the display changed again.

Esposo looked at the list of entries and felt panic rising in his gut. He double-checked the list again and then pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number. When it picked up, he said, "The vault at Drop Location One has been manipulated...yep, it opened and closed several times earlier this afternoon, but it may have been a glitch." He typed on the keyboard again, bringing up the security cameras and watching the footage. "I'm checking...nothing...nothing...oh, here it is...oh, no! The two homicide detectives were here this afternoon." He uttered a series of curses. "They're walking around...oh, the woman - Lance - stumbled...oh no, she found the switch." A few more curses escaped. "Here comes her partner, Lorenzo." He paused to fast-forward and look at the other camera views and spoke more curses into the phone. "He's standing inside the vault. Drop Location One has been compromised."

The voice on the other end spoke in machine-gun fashion. "Why weren't they dealt with last night? You told me they were together!"

"Because we only paid for Lance, and his price for both was exorbitant."

The phone voice responded, "Define 'exorbitant'?"

Raul could feel the sweat forming on his brow. "He demanded two twenty-five for both, and use of a private jet out of the country after he was done. And he didn't want to take both in unfamiliar surroundings - he assumed both were armed."

The phone voice uttered several obscenities before continuing, "Why didn't you just pay the man? If you had, our primary drop would be intact, two cops would be in the morgue, and the Palm Beach PD would be tripping all over itself chasing shadows. I know why he didn't want to do both together - he's seen Lance and wants play time with her. Why can't he just put a bullet in her like the Schmidt girl? First, you botch Matias' death, and now this. It's a total disaster. Call your hitter back, give him Lorenzo's address, tell him two seventy-five for both - three fifty if it's done in the next twenty-four hours - and tell him the jet will be ready ninety minutes after he calls and tells us the job is done. Think you can manage that or should I give you a little list to attach to your grocery cart? We're done at that place. Clear out and Drop Location Four becomes our new primary. You better not screw up again!" The phone disconnected.

Raul Esposo took a deep breath, wondering why he was in this business, and pulled out a floppy disk. He put it in the slot and executed a command, which promptly reformatted the computer's hard drive. He turned the machine off, walked across the garage and pulled a large magnet off the shelf. He walked back over and held it next to the computer for a couple of minutes before putting it back and walking out the door, never to return. As he got in his car to drive away, he dialed his phone...

The exuberance Chris and Rita felt over the discovery at the Garcia estate was tempered by the fact that Rupert Mitchell was gone when they returned to the station, having easily made bail. George Donovan was equally frustrated. He had really tried to hold Mitchell. "Come on, guys, don't lay this at my door. If his gun fired the bullet that killed Jennifer Schmidt, he would still be here filling out his extended-stay paperwork. All we had was possession. I tried to keep him another night on a hold, but he has no record and good standing in the community, and his lawyer knows it. He's the primary sponsor in my son's Little League, for pity's sake! The judge all but laughed at me. I would have had an easier time holding Mother Teresa. I'm sorry."

Rita asked if there was any good news and George thought for a moment.

"Well, I made him submit his passport and give his word to stick around which, I don't know, might be good for absolutely bupkus," George shrugged. "He pleaded 'innocent' to the drug charges, which is laughable, so we'll have a bit of leverage when you get to talk to him. I'm pretty sure he didn't kill the girl, but I think he might know more than he's letting on. This is the first night in three weeks I'm going home before eight and Andrea is cooking. If I don't show, I'm a dead man. I'll see you all tomorrow."

Harry congratulated them on the good work, standing between them and patting each on the shoulder. "My buddies at DEA are going to feel pretty sheepish when they find out two homicide detectives uncovered the smoking gun they've been digging for years to find. Great work." He looked at his watch, "I'm heading out, too. Frannie and I have a dinner reservation at six. See you two tomorrow."

Chris and Rita walked out to the parking lot in the fading light, and Chris' car was nowhere to be seen.

"You've got to be kidding me," he said, hanging his head and laughing, "this day..."

Rita called the auto shop for Chris and got the story, which she relayed to him. The alternator had been defective, so it had been replaced free of charge. But when they delivered the car, the driver had used Rita's address as the drop-off point rather than the station address. "So, there's no charge for the tow, the replacement, and the return. You just get to ride with me to pick it up. Sixty-forty that car still doesn't get you home tonight," she finished with a laugh. Chris just shook his head.

The car started on the first twist of the key and rumbled to life. "And no generator light. Ninety-ten that you're wrong."

"You've got almost fifteen miles to go. Sixty-forty," she reached through the window to rub his hair, "Drive safe and see you tomorrow."

Chris gave a quick squeal of the tires and yelled over the rumble of the engine, "Ninety-ten!"

Rita walked into her apartment and went back to change. Right there on the bed was the outfit she had set aside to take to Chris' place. She had overlooked it this morning when his car broke, and she kicked herself for forgetting it again - he would have waited a minute while she ran in and grabbed it. She responded to herself aloud, "He just left. Maybe he could come right back."

She went back and forth for a couple of minutes before she quick called him and asked. He was totally fine with it. "Yeah, I just pulled on the freeway. The next exit is right ahead. I can turn around and be right back. Less than ten minutes." When she double-checked to make sure - after all, she could just take it the next time she went to his place - he said no problem at all. "I'm actually on the off-ramp now. Two left turns and right back on, then two miles back up the freeway and two miles to your place. Not even ten minutes."

As he turned and entered the on-ramp to head back, Chris could see the brake lights begin to flash in front of him. A few minutes before at the entrance four miles down the road, a merging car had failed to yield, pulled into traffic, and hit the side of a pickup. The collision sent the offending car spinning into the second lane, hitting yet another vehicle and causing a major traffic snarl. Speeds had not been high, so injuries were limited to a few scrapes and bruises, but on multiple lanes of traffic in the evening, the domino effect was staggering. Chris merged onto the freeway going ten miles per hour. He shook his head - he would get there, but ten minutes was out of the question.

Rita walked out, put the outfit on the sofa, and opened the fridge for dinner. She smiled, thinking about last evening. There wasn't anything she didn't like about her partner, except maybe that he was a bit of a player with the ladies. But he was always a gentleman with her, and she loved that about him. She really loved a lot about Chris. She decided to ask him to stay and eat with her again tonight. It would probably be pizza or Chinese ordered in, but at least she would ask. She felt a few butterflies in her stomach and she laughed at her girlish foolishness.

When the knock on the door came, she said quietly to herself as she crossed the floor, "But no kissing cheeks, no snuggling on the sofa, and especially no naughty dreams that get you all worked up."

She opened the door, saying, "That didn't ta...", and a swift blur swept through her vision. Something smashed into her face just below her left eye, shattering her cheekbone and sending her sprawling to the floor. She lay there stunned, unable to process what had just happened, and then the pain exploded in her brain. As she rolled to her hands and knees, a boot flew into her stomach. She heard the sickening crunch of her ribs even before the searing pain was transmitted. The kick flipped her onto her back, where she lay like a helpless thing, gasping for breath. Her training was telling her to move, but her body wouldn't respond. Why was Chris doing this to her?

As she reached up to touch her broken face, her unfocused vision registered movement again. A man - definitely not her Chris - was shaking his right hand and standing over her. This man reached down, grabbed her hair with his left hand, and punched her again, breaking her nose and sending blood streaming down her face. Barely conscious, Rita tried to see her assailant as blood from her cheek and nose filled her left eye and dribbled into her mouth. The man looked at her, then pushed her head onto the floor, not so hard that he cracked her skull or knocked her completely out, but just hard enough to stun her and render her unable to fight back.

He flipped Rita on her stomach, wrapped her hands behind her back with duct tape, tied off her feet, then rolled her back over - she nearly passed out from the pain of her ribs grating together - and pressed duct tape over her mouth. In less than sixty seconds, Rita had been completely incapacitated by someone she had barely seen. Christopher, she screamed in her addled brain, help me!

Chris picked up the phone to call his partner, but then traffic opened up enough for him to start moving and get to the exit he needed. "Finally!" he said aloud. Just a couple of miles to go. He was getting hungry and tried to think about what was in the fridge at home. He put the phone down. Five minutes if he got the green lights, seven for the reds. Maybe he would see if Rita wanted to go grab a bite to eat, so he hoped she hadn't already started preparing something. The car was running great! They must have tuned it up just a bit in addition to the alternator replacement. He only got half the red lights.

The man spoke, "There you go, that should do it," as he dragged Rita, senseless and battered, back almost to her bedroom. She was crying in terrible pain, but it was stifled by the duct tape. He grabbed the bedspread from her bed and wiped the blood from her eyes. "That's better, Officer Lance. Now, let's get something out of the way up front," he said softly as he knelt down beside her and pulled a large Bowie knife from inside his shirt. Even through the blood and the haze, Rita could see the serrated blade glistening. "I am going to kill you tonight, so now you don't have to wonder about that", he said with a smile. Rita sobbed and then screamed into the duct tape when he lightly pressed the blade's surface against her broken cheek. "But at least your death will be enjoyable - for me. It's just business, but I'm mixing in a bit of pleasure. I will consider it my bonus."

He pulled a handgun from a shoulder holster and showed it to her. "I don't think you'll need this, but Lorenzo will." Rita closed her eyes, begging Chris to hurry, then screamed again when he pressed her nose with his thumb. "I need you to look at me when I'm talking," he said with a soulless smile. "When I'm done here, I'm heading to his place to put a bullet in his brain. I know he spent last night with you, so I hope you really enjoyed your final evening alive. You were going to die last night, but you got a one-day stay of execution. I plan to enjoy my time with you as much as Lorenzo did, maybe even more."

The killer sighed and continued softly, "I was really hoping your lover would find you when I was finished, but since I'm getting paid for him, too, that won't be possible." He ran the knife down from her throat to her navel. Then he reversed, adding a tiny bit of pressure and slicing through the buttons of her outer garments. Rita shut her eyes as tears and blood ran down her neck and dripped onto the floor. He placed the knife under the bra strap in the middle of her chest, just breaking the skin, then flicked the blade up, slicing through the wires and fabric and leaving her nearly exposed.

Chris had parked the car and headed into Rita's building. As he walked down the hallway toward her place, he saw a light that looked out of place, almost as if a door was open. He paused for a moment before realizing that it was Rita's door. Instantly his guard was up, and instinctively his right had moved to the left, resting on his pistol. He walked rapidly and silently to the door and, keeping his body back, gave a quick peek into her place. He saw nothing and pulled back, then counted to three and looked again, giving himself two seconds to scan the room.

Blood! There, on the floor, just to the left of the aquarium, there was blood on the floor! Something had happened, and all thoughts of self-preservation vanished in a moment! There was only Rita, protect Rita! He drew his gun and stepped silently into the doorway, scanning quickly to the left and right to clear the immediate entrance. "Rita?" he called in a calm voice. Nothing. "Rita?" he called a little louder. After a silence he heard a light thumping sound. Through the intense hurt, his partner had lifted her taped feet a few inches and then dropped them to the floor as hard as she could.

The killer cursed himself when he heard Rita's name. In his zeal to destroy the woman, he had made the first serious mistake in all his years of work, and it was the most basic - close and lock the door. It always gave him one additional barrier and extra time to act. Now that time was lost, and someone - probably the lover, the cop, who probably had his gun out right now - was in the apartment. Why had he returned? He had watched him leave. It didn't matter now, it was time to improvise. The killer still had the woman, which gave him the advantage he needed.

Chris riveted on the sound, trained his gun toward the bedroom, and took a few steps into the living room. Had she fallen down? He quickly scanned the floor again and saw more blood. She must have fallen out front, cut herself, and made her way to the back bathroom. He relaxed just a bit. Why didn't she answer him? His gun drooped an inch or two and he called again, "Rita, tell me you're okay. Is everything alright?" He took another step, but stiffened and felt the rage surge hot in him when an answer came, but the voice wasn't Rita's.

"Rita's not alright, Chris Lorenzo, but I am." The hit man, a professional with dozens of kills to his credit, was just in front of her bedroom doorway. He lifted Rita to her feet and stood behind her. The knife was in his left hand, which was gripping his partner's waist. In his right hand, he held a pistol.

Rita struggled to stay standing and started crying again, not wanting her partner to see her like this and ashamed that she had been subdued so easily. Chris stared at his best friend, bloodied and beaten almost beyond recognition, her shirt ripped open and hanging over her shoulders and chest. "Oh God, Rita..." was all that came out of his mouth. He would kill this man; he would take him apart piece by piece. But right now, the unknown assailant held what mattered most. He felt his will harden and he went cold. "Let her go. You hurt her anymore and I promise I will kill you. There's no chance you get out of here alive unless you let her go."

"I can't do that, I have work to do, and I won't get paid until I'm finished with her - and with you. We are professionals, so let's not insult each other. One of us is going to live and one is not. There is no other way this is going to end." The man smiled and Chris saw his right hand tighten around the pistol.

Chris responded quietly. "No, don't even think about it. I swear, I will send you straight to Hell. Drop the gun and let her go - just you and me."

"You can't be serious," the man laughed. "'Drop the gun'...that's the best you've got? You know I won't do that. I was showing it to Ms. Lance, but it's not for her. I had other plans for her. The gun - that's for you. A bullet in your head will earn me a bundle - one hundred seventy-five thousand dollars, to be exact."

Chris thought for a second before reaching, "Just like Jennifer Schmidt - a bullet in the head. What did that earn you?"

The man laughed again, "I don't kiss and tell, but since you're going to die anyways...yeah, she was mine. I killed her for twenty-five. One of my most reasonable fees. She was a pretty thing, but not like your girlfriend. I hope you enjoyed her company last night. Tonight was going to be my turn. Rita is worth the same to me as you, but I really wanted a bonus with my pay. You have made that impossible by showing up here, so you'll die together. See you both in Hell..."

With a twist of his left wrist, the killer turned the knife and buried it in Rita's abdomen while raising his pistol to fire on Chris. Her eyes bulged and she screamed through the covering over her mouth. But the killer had committed his second error of the evening, and it was his last. Had he chosen to take Chris first, he might have succeeded, but Rita slumped to the left as her world went black, which threw off his balance. His first shot went wide and high to Chris' left, blasting through the apartment wall about two feet from the ceiling, passing through the small dead space and burying itself in the cinder block on the building's exterior wall. He would not pull the trigger a second time.

When the knife went in, Chris fired twice in rapid succession. The first bullet just missed his partner's right shoulder, but found meat in the assassin's clavicle, breaking his collarbone. The second slug - a bit higher due to the natural recoil of the pistol - hit just above his right eye, blowing off the top and back of his skull in a shower of bloody spray, bone fragments, and brain matter. The killer, already dead but still standing, looked at Chris in shock for a moment before his eyes clouded and he toppled backward in a lifeless heap, with Rita crumpling on top of him.

"You first," Chris said, running to his partner. Chris knelt beside Rita and, for a moment, was unable to think. She was so torn up, and blood was everywhere. "Rita! Oh, God, please, not Rita! Don't die!" There was a pulse and she was breathing, but her skin was pale and he was terrified she wouldn't last long. He pulled the tape from her mouth with a quick yank, thankful she wasn't awake to feel it. He grabbed his phone and punched in 9-1-1-send. The seven seconds it took for the ring and pick-up seemed an eternity. He fairly yelled into the phone, "Officer down, officer down, Rita's been stabbed! She has multiple facial injuries and a serious stab wound to the abdomen!" He gave the listener his name and Rita's address and told them to hurry.

The gunshots caused quite a stir in the building, leading to several additional 9-1-1 calls and a flurry of opening doors and peeking into hallways. As gingerly as possible, Chris pulled the knife from Rita's belly. He looked at the cruel blade with a grimace, knowing the kind of internal damage it could do. He grabbed the tatters of her blouse and pressed them against the badly bleeding wound. He was frantically looking around, knowing he needed something more substantial, when faces appeared in the doorway. One of them announced herself as a nurse and tentatively stepped into the apartment, calling out and asking if anyone needed help. Chris identified himself and she came running back. When she saw the scene, particularly the dead man with eyes wide open and half his head blown off, she stopped, turned, and vomited on the floor.

Chris yelled, "Get a hold of yourself! You never see a dead guy before? I need towels! Get every towel from the bathroom right back there. The big drawer on the left...now!" She ran back, through the blood and gore and reappeared a few seconds later with an armload. "Give me one, cover up her chest with another, and get one under her head, and hurry! Now monitor her pulse and make sure she's still breathing. Help her breathe if you need to! Hang on, Rita, help is here and more is coming. Stay with me. Keep breathing." He could hear sirens wailing in the distance now, getting louder. The 'officer down' call had been broadcast network-wide and every available officer was racing at break-neck speed to the scene.

He tossed the bloody shirt aside and gently pressed the towel against her abdomen, while the nurse wiped the blood from Rita's face and held her hand on Rita's wrist, feeling the pulse. It was only then that Chris realized he was weeping. Tears clouded his eyes and he was bawling like a child. He prayed again, "Oh God, please don't let her die - please. I'm trying to save her! Take me instead."

The nurse touched his arm and motioned with her head to look at Rita. Her eyes were open. The beautiful green was gone, replaced by a deathly gray, but she smiled and whispered, "You're here, moving heaven and earth. Thank you," before closing her eyes and again drifting to the painless black of unconsciousness.

Harry and Frannie were enjoying their dessert with soft music in the background when his phone rang. Frannie gave her husband that sly, squinting smile and said, "Go ahead," and then pointed a finger at him and added, "but I'm watching you." He answered and listened, and Frannie saw the color drain from his face. "You sure about all that?...ok, we're on our way. Frannie, we gotta go, now! I'll explain on the way." He jumped up, threw a fifty-dollar bill on the table, and all but sprinted to his car, with poor Frannie trying to keep up.


	5. Friday

Chris jerked awake, a bit defensive until he realized he was being shaken. It was Fran, lightly pushing on his shoulder. "Chris, wake up. It's over."

He looked around, completely disoriented for the moment by his surroundings. Then the bright lights, the sterile white walls, and the clean ten-by-ten floor tiles brought it all back. He was in the hospital. He glanced beyond her to the clock on the wall - 2:28am. How long had he been asleep? Oh dear God, it was real, and Frannie was looking at him with bloodshot, teary eyes.

Memories flooded back in pristine, painful, devastating detail. Rita's apartment, the attack, the knife in her guts. Her battered, bloodied body, limp on the tile, lying atop a dead man with his brains and blood splattered all over the walls and bedroom. The floor slippery with blood. Chris felt the bile rising in his throat as he recalled his feeble attempts to stop the bleeding. In an instant, or at least it seemed that way, he had been surrounded by medics and emergency personnel, who shoved him aside and went to work on his beautiful partner, feverishly trying to save her life. Gauze and needles and tape were called for in staccato fashion. He watched helpless on his knees, seeing her so pale, her lips almost completely devoid of color, her fingertips transforming from pink to blue.

"We need blood, now!" a medic had yelled, and moments later she was stabbed a second time, in the arm with a needle attached to a bag hanging on a hook.

Then she was on the gurney, and he heard someone give the order, "Go, go, go!", and she was out the door. He followed her, almost in a trance - his body was moving, but not because of any command he was giving. The gurney was pushed into the ambulance to two more waiting medics, one of whom responded to a question Chris had not heard. "Yeah, we have two more pints, but that's it, step on it! Lorenzo, get in here!" He had jumped up, catching his foot on the bumper and banging his knees, but he was in the ambulance and it felt like they were flying. Words came again from an unknown source, "Jeff, call ahead and make sure they're prepping the OR. She's going right in!" He had held her left hand - everything in slow motion, just Chris and Rita - while frantic work continued around him.

Now it was over. He looked up at Frannie and saw her kind smile. He could see Harry behind her, talking to a doctor that had a hand on his shoulder. The doctor was wearing bloody garments and was holding the Bowie knife used by the killer. He had failed. He had gotten to Rita too late and she was gone. His eyes filled with tears and he looked down with a sniffle. Oh God, I'm so sorry I was too late!

"Chris, Rita is out of surgery and the doctor wants to talk to you," Fran said as she handed him some tissues.

Harry walked over with the doctor and Chris stood up, feeling a faint glimmer of hope for the first time and trying to make himself a bit more presentable. "It's been a long night, Sergeant," the doctor said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm Doctor Williams. I was going to give your Captain an update, and he says you need to hear this as well. Sergeant Lance is listed as 'critical but stable', but she arrived here in very bad shape. She was on the operating table nearly seven hours. Her injuries are extensive, but the stab wound is, by far, the most serious. This knife," he continued, holding the weapon up and making a slashing motion across his belly, "was intended to disembowel her. Had that happened, she would have died before you finished your 9-1-1 call. But it seems you ended a killer's life before he ended hers." Harry patted Chris on his other shoulder and Fran smiled up at him.

The doctor continued, "The blade punctured the top of her large intestine, her small intestine, and the bottom of her stomach - and that serrated edge complicated matters. First, her intestines. We worked very carefully, but when the intestines are ruptured, it creates a big risk of infection and sepsis. If that happens," he looked at each of them, "I have to be honest, she probably won't survive. The good news is there wasn't a lot of fecal leakage and we washed and cleaned everything really well. We have reason to be hopeful, but if she spikes a fever in the next forty-eight hours, we'll have to open her up again and work like mad to keep her alive. I'm just being realistic to set proper expectations."

The doctor continued and Chris wondered how long the list of injuries would be. "As for her stomach, the laceration isn't terribly severe, but it may require additional surgery. I'm not sure, so we sent images of our work for a second opinion. Her intestines were our top priority and GI doctors will look at that work as well."

"Her other injuries are not life-threatening. Five cracked ribs and those will heal with time, but they are going to hurt. She has a broken nose that we set - that will be fine but her face and eyes will be black and blue for a few days. She also has a badly broken cheekbone - whoever assaulted her either punched her incredibly hard or hit her with something. Obviously, she's a lovely woman, so she'll want that fixed. We have cosmetic surgery scheduled for Monday morning, assuming everything else holds. We leave that work to the experts. We had plastic surgeons put her belly together, so scarring will be almost invisible over time. A CAT scan revealed a minor concussion and she has a lump on the back of her head, so she must have hit her head on something during the attack. And that's it."

"That's plenty," Harry said, getting nods from everyone.

The doctor concluded with, "Again, there's a long way to go here. We have her stabilized, but do not assume everything is all right. She was really torn up inside, one of the worst I've seen in twenty-plus years of trauma-room surgery. We did our best, but there is a lot that could go wrong. You are all fortunate to still have her with you." He patted Chris again and said, "Good work, officer," before concluding. "Keep praying for her and we'll keep doing our thing. What questions can I answer?"

"Thank you so much for everything. Can I see her?" Chris asked, wiping his eyes.

The surgeon thought for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, it's not normal procedure, but you can all come back. I'll go in first and let the recovery nurses know you're coming. She's completely out and won't wake for a while yet. She can't hear you, so a minute only. And I mean it. One minute."

There was no hiding her grim appearance. Bandages completely covered the left side of her face and what was visible was badly bruised. Her color was still pale. A large tube was in her mouth and smaller tubes were in her nose. There were IVs in both arms and a bunch of wires feeding information to an array of machines. Frannie cried and ignored orders not to touch her. She walked over, kissed her forehead, and whispered, "Hang in there, sweetheart," before going back and hugging her husband, who stood quietly. Chris just looked at her, watching the slow but regular rise and fall of her breast under the blankets, confirming she was indeed alive. As the tears began to well up, he walked over to her and then had to turn away as the floodgates let loose. A pretty, young nurse walked over to them, put her arm on Chris' back, and said to all of them, "We'll take good care of her - it's time."

When they walked out, the surgeon was still there. "I hope you don't think I'm over-reacting, but based on what I've been told of this incident, it has the marks of an assassination attempt. We may have issues if the killer was not acting alone. This hospital was broadcast over the system as her destination – we cannot avoid that. It may be overkill, but Ms. Lance's name will not appear on the monitors nor any of the room lists, and our kiosk workers will not be able to look up her information. When she eventually lands in a room, I recommend an armed officer inside the room at least for a few days, not outside - nothing to give away her location. You should give us a list of people allowed to visit. They get in and no one else. Ten names or less."

Normally, Chris enjoyed Fridays, since they often involved longer lunches, a little goofing around in the office, or getting off early, but this Friday anything but typical. After the surgeon's update, Chris tried to sleep on the waiting room bench, but the constant beeps and dings, to say nothing of the foot traffic and the announcements, made it almost impossible. There was no way he was leaving his partner, so he struggled to rest while waiting for any updates. Harry and Fran left at four to go home and get some rest. Both promised they would be back later in the morning.

Rita was moved into a room in ICU a little after five in the morning, and Chris was allowed to see her for a few minutes. She was still under heavy sedation that kept her asleep, and she was unable to speak anyway because of the tubes, so his conversation with her was one-sided. He told her a little about what happened the previous night and the great work the medical team had done. His guilt was consuming him, and he told her how sorry he was for getting there too late. He lightly rubbed the backs of her hands, cried some more, and watched her breathe before apologizing again, kissing her bruised cheek, and stepping back out. The officer in the corner had neither spoken nor moved.

Diana arrived an hour later and was allowed to visit - she was 'one of the ten.' She came out and hugged Chris, who gave her a quick run-down of the previous night and again apologized for his failure. "You better stop that!" she said a little more sharply than she intended, so she added a smile. "I'm sure you did everything you could and Rita couldn't want for a better protector." Then she laughed through her tears and told him he looked worse than Rita. "Go home, get cleaned up, and change your clothes. Look at you...you're a wreck! Covered in blood and other parts of someone's anatomy that I can actually identify. I don't even know why I'm getting close to you. I work with dead people all the time, so why would I want to be with a live man that smells like a dead one? She's in good hands, but I'll wait here if you don't want her to be alone. After last night, no one's going to be upset if I'm a few minutes late."

Chris took her up on the offer and headed towards home and a shower. He cleaned up, grabbed a quick breakfast, and then stopped at the station to pick up some work. He needed to stay busy to keep from going crazy. He walked into an office filled with sympathy for him and questions about Rita's condition. It was difficult to talk about, and he still felt terrible about things, but everyone was very supportive. That included Internal Affairs, which had informed Harry right away that, while they were required to review the details of the shooting and eventually depose Chris, he was completely in the clear.

When he got back to the hospital, Rita was still asleep, but nurses had removed her intubation tube and Diana said one of the nurses told her Rita had opened her eyes for a few minutes. She was far too medicated to really know what was going on, but it was something. He tried to focus on the papers he brought along, but too many things were still running through his mind. His thoughts kept returning to 'last night,' and the hurt and guilt were overwhelming. He had no idea how his body continued to manufacture tears to cry. He needed release.

He got up and roamed the halls for a few minutes before passing a room labeled 'Chaplain.' He paused for a moment before walking in. An older man sitting quietly at a desk turned around and smiled, "How can I help you this morning, young man?"

Chris wasn't sure, and said as much. But the chaplain was gentle and wise, asking few questions - no more than needed to get Chris to talk - and mostly just listening. As good as any psychiatrist, this man let Chris tell his story, all of the pain, the horror of watching his best friend dying in front of him, the terrible feelings over the delays in getting to her, wondering what would have happened had she sent him home on that phone call. "I was there, and she barely survived - she still may die. What if I had just gone home?"

"Son," he said softly, "you've said that several times - 'what if I had gotten there faster' and 'what if I had gone home'. You didn't go home. You went back. The hypothetical is not the real, and the 'what if' is not the 'what was'. You would not be in this hospital talking to me right now had the 'what if' occurred. You would either be at a murder scene or at the morgue identifying a dead body. You might even be dead yourself."

"I don't know if you're a religious man, but I am. I believe there's a devil and I believe he plants those 'what if' questions in our minds all the time to keep us down and keep us thinking about the worst possible outcome rather than reality, which is usually - not always, but most of the time - much better than 'worst possible'." Then the chaplain asked a very pointed question. "Chris, based on the knowledge you had when you left your partner's home yesterday evening, what could you have done differently that would have changed things one iota?"

He waited patiently for Chris to answer and when nothing came, he continued, "I'll tell you my answer, if that's alright. You could have made decisions that would have made the outcome worse, but you didn't. And you could not have made any decision any better than you did, so this was the best possible outcome for your partner - you gave her this chance. You gave her a chance to live when there was no chance. You say she still might die, but I say to you that she would be dead already if you had not intervened. There was only one person who could have saved your partner last night," the chaplain paused and pointed both index fingers at Chris, "and you succeeded. You were a true officer and an even truer partner. You see yourself as a failure, but based on my view of 'what was', you're a hero. Don't let that go to your head, but instead, let it encourage you. There are hard days ahead, I'm sure, but be strong, and know you did everything right." He paused again and then concluded with, "I don't think it's hit you yet, but the rage and anger will come. Don't let that consume you. Redirect it, and work harder for justice and equity."

Chris thanked the chaplain for his time and for helping lift the burden a little, and the chaplain said he would talk to the administration about visiting Rita. "If it's possible, I'd like to meet this officer and talk to her a little, pray over her, maybe even tell her about the partner that cares so much about her," he added with another smile, "You take care and come back any time you want to talk. The door is always open."

He spent the rest of the morning with his partner. He was the last person she had seen the previous night, so he desperately wanted to be with her when she woke up. There was no desk in the room, so Chris grabbed a second chair from the against the wall and put his papers on it, creating a makeshift platform on which to work.

When he stopped by the station, he had picked up the folders Rita had taken from Matias' office. Two of them had no label, which was why she had pulled them - she was really good at noticing little differences - and two others had the labels 'Home' and 'Personal'. He was leafing through the papers in the 'Home' folder and had just stumbled onto something of interest when there was a stirring next to him.

He turned and saw Rita looking at him. The beautiful green had returned to her one unbandaged eye and she was working to smile. He got up and stepped over to her, gave her a big smile, and said, "Welcome back."

Rita lifted her right hand to touch his cheek, but only moved a few inches before she winced in pain and put it back down. Chris took her hand, then leaned down and kissed it before putting it on his face for a moment. She tried to speak, but her throat was parched and her voice gravelly. "I'm really thirsty," she croaked, running her dry tongue over dry lips in a futile attempt to moisten them.

Chris told her to hang on a minute and went outside in search of a nurse. Finding one, he asked if Rita could have something to drink. The answer was no, she could not, but the nurse offered to bring a small cup of ice chips. Rita could have a couple, she said - and that meant one or two. The nurse returned minutes later with the cup and when she left, Chris gave her some - three, to be exact. She sucked on each one as if they were treasures and then spoke again, her voice improved but still scratchy and very soft. "My throat is sore. Actually, almost all of me is sore."

Chris told her the tube made her throat sore, but that would get better before too long. "Rita, you should be sore. You were in surgery for a long time, but the surgeon wants to discuss that with you."

She hadn't really heard him, "I can't really feel anything in my stomach, but I can feel my feet. What did the doctors say?"

"That you're lucky to be alive." Chris turned toward the voice that belonged to Harry Lipschitz. He had just opened the door and stepped in with Frannie right behind. "You had somebody watching over you last night," he finished as he walked up and patted Chris' back.

"Yeah," Chris said in a low voice, "you survived in spite of me, not because of me."

Frannie clucked at Chris' response and pointed at Rita, "Don't you dare listen to him!" She had already run a washcloth under warm water and was gently wiping Rita's exposed skin, removing dried blood and making her look more presentable. "Just sprucing you up a bit, sweetie, not that you need much." She handed Rita another ice chip.

"Do I look ok?" Rita asked, her words slurred and voice still creaking. Her eye was fluttering to stay open - she was awake, but barely.

Harry motioned Chris to the door, speaking quietly. "Come with me. I have news." The two of them left Frannie, one of the world's best elixirs, to dote on Rita while she was still awake.

They stepped out in the hall and Harry spoke. "She been awake long?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes. It's almost time for another dose of pain meds, so she'll go down again."

"Good. Listen, the boys and girls at the office went into overdrive last night and this morning, and we identified Lance's attacker. You ready? He doesn't exist," Harry said as he tapped Chris' arm with each word for emphasis and then waited for a response, getting the desired puzzled look.

"Yeah, his fingerprints got a hit on Interpol, but they belong to a guy listed as dead. You took down a really bad man. His actual name is - was - Hector Illev Castellana. Born in Ecuador in '58, his parents were killed in turf wars in Quito when he was young, and that made him really angry. The dossier indicates he was trained as a teen in Russia in the '70s and has moved around since as an elite gun-for-hire. Rumor has it he spent a little time with Carlos the Jackal. He spoke multiple languages fluently and was an expert with lots of weapons."

"I have a pretty good idea how he died last night, so how did he die the first time?" Chris asked.

Harry continued, "I was just getting to that. Apparently, he spent some time working with the PLO, coordinating and executing hits on various Israeli targets, which raised the ire of Jerusalem. Mossad believed they killed him with a car bomb in Beirut three years ago, but clearly, somebody goofed. He disappeared from the radar until last night."

Chris followed up. "If he's that good, did I really kill this Castellana last night? By the way, he claimed he killed Jennifer Schmidt on a twenty-five-thousand-dollar contract."

"Oh, you killed him alright. He'll be pushing up daisies in an unmarked grave by tomorrow night. Our guys were right with you on the Schmidt case. Bullets fired from his gun are a perfect match for the one that killed Jennifer."

"So now we have to figure out who hired him. That won't be any easy task."

"Actually? Don't be too sure about that," Harry said with a smile, "Castellana left his car keys in his pocket, which led officers to a car that was parked a just a block from Rita's place. There was a cell phone in there and..."

"Wow," Chris exclaimed, "this guy was cocky as heck! No contingencies if anything goes wrong, no covering his tracks, and apparently no thought given to a Plan B. He was pretty sure of himself."

"As I was saying, we found his phone. Our people looked at the call logs and one number stood out, so we called the phone company and asked for a little help. They were reluctant to cooperate until I got on the line and told them it involved a 'near-fatal' on an officer, and eventually, all of this would be made public, along with the name of the phone company that refused to help catch a killer...then they were happy to give a name."

"Incredible!" Chris was shocked. It appeared that the dominoes were falling. "So who are we looking for?"

* * *

Raul Esposo was putting the final things into his bag when his phone rang. Actually, it was one of nine mobile phones he owned. All were set up under different names and addresses, and all were lined up in front of him on the bed. The one ringing was the only phone registered to his actual name, and to this point, only two people had the number - his boss and the hired gun. He had a pretty good idea which one was on the other end and until he was ready to go, he wasn't picking up. His peripheral vision caught a flash of lightning and a few seconds later, the crack and rumble of thunder. A noontime storm was rolling through, but he looked out the window and could already see sunlight on the other side. He would not have to change his plans at all.

Esposo had been listening to the police scanner the night before when calls of 'officer down' and 'shots fired' had gone out. He recognized Sergeant Lance's address and had a strong notion that things had not gone according to plan. In a perfect world, no one would have known anything. Castellana used a knife in his 'personal' jobs. At ten thirty, more than three hours after the emergency calls had been broadcast, Castellana still hadn't confirmed the kills. Raul assumed the worst - the assassin was dead and the police would be working the threads backward to the sources. He didn't understand how Castellana could have failed in his mission. After all, it was just two homicide cops in separate locations, and one was just a woman. He had taken down tougher targets in his sleep. But regardless, if the boss perceived that anything had gone wrong, it would be his neck in the noose. It was time to get out.

The phone stopped ringing and Esposo finished packing. Nearly everything was in order. He had pulled a quarter of a million dollars in cash from a safe hidden in a compartment under a filing cabinet in the office closet. Twenty-five thousand of that went into the money belt around his waist and the rest into a duffel to give to the pilot of the Gulfstream IV he had chartered.

The scheduled flight path was a basic one: Palm Beach International to Kingston, Jamaica. The actual flight would be very different. The pilot, a former squadron leader in the Venezuelan Air Force, had been a wizard in the cockpit of his country's F-16s, but had found more lucrative employment transporting drugs, dealers, and their cartel kingpins. The plan was to take off and make for Kingston. The pilot would then report engine problems, dive for the ocean, level off just above the waves and well below radar coverage, then reappear near Barbados, where he would land and Raul would disembark.

From there, it was a short boat ride to the South American mainland and Esposo's final destination - a villa he had secretly purchased outside of Guyana City. With the Venezuelan government at his back and almost thirty million dollars in offshore accounts earning seven percent, he would be set. Retirement was looking very good right now. Rest, enjoy the sweet life, and maybe check on business options after things cooled down.

He was ready, he grabbed his pistol, the big one - there were no gun restrictions on this flight - and his two duffel bags. He didn't need anything else. The cash in his belt was more than enough to get from Barbados to his destination, and the new place was already fully furnished. There was another rumble of thunder, this one quieter - the storm was moving off.

The phone rang again and he answered on the second ring.

"Yeah?...no, the hitter hasn't called yet...I know, he's got only three hours left for the bonus...actually, I think he already attempted the hit, and failed...calm down!...I can't control what happens...if you wanted it done right, you should have let me handle it...yeah, I know where they took her, Good Samaritan Medical...don't worry about Mitchell, he's harmless...alright, I'll meet you, be there in sixty."

He hung up the phone and sighed. It was all falling apart. Millions and millions of dollars, gone because the boss had to kill Matias rather than bringing him into the deal. It was the natural thing to do after he discovered the pit in the yard, but the boss wouldn't listen to him. She was far too greedy. Then she requested - no, demanded - that he do the deed. He hated it because he actually liked Matias a lot, but he was the logical choice. His cover as the groundskeeper gave him perfect access.

Then going after the officer - Lance - for what? Because the woman was beautiful and strong? Because she had a ravishing partner? Lance posed no threat at all. To make matters worse, she apparently wasn't killed - neither of them, by the sounds of it - so rather than have a police force that was in mourning, giving everyone time to regroup and plan, it was a unified machine, enraged at the attack on their own and working at top speed to track the perpetrators down - track him down.

Now the boss wanted to meet. Esposo had no illusions about that - it was time to clean up loose ends, and right now, he was a loose end. So instead of driving to a meeting he knew would be completed with him in a body bag, he was heading down south, where the money was still good and extradition laws didn't apply.

He shook his head, feeling sorry for Mitchell. He looked at the fourth phone on the bed, the non-business phone, and thought about calling him. A warning might save Mitchell's life, but Rupert was soft, prone to panic, and too in love with his money and the secretary. A great financial guy, he was an idiot in most other respects. Of all the loose ends, he was the loosest. He didn't know anything of consequence about the business, but he would squeal like a little girl, planting seeds and creating fingers the authorities could use. It was probably better this way.

He called the pilot, who said the plane was fueled and ready. Raul told him thirty minutes, forty tops. He walked to the safe in his office with his bags and the phones. He placed each phone in the safe and then smashed it with a hammer. Closing it up and placing it in its hidden compartment, he looked around one last time. No way he was taking the Lexus, so he had pulled the old Buick LeSabre from storage early this morning, his 'bug-out' car. It was time to bug out. Every contingency, planned, plotted, and prepared. Carla was on her own now, and good riddance to her. He opened the side door to head to the garage, picked up his bags, and...

"Going somewhere, Esposo?" Chris Lorenzo asked with his gun drawn and pointed at Raul's head. Behind him stood Harry and three other officers, all with guns drawn. "I think you're making new plans."

* * *

Carla Garcia parked in Rupert Mitchell's driveway.

She always loved his place - coveted it, really. Since the day he had it built, she had wanted it - or a place just like it. She tried several different ways to make that happen before she found her true calling. Matias was a prospect, but he wasn't interested in her any more than he was interested in any woman that gave him the time of day. He was a hound. He would sleep with anyone.

She tried to attach herself to Rupert early on, but he was too enamored with the secretary - a simple, stupid secretary - that didn't know derivatives from dog food. Carla rolled her eyes at the thought. He was a bum. He was a puss. They had used each other when needed, but other than their sexual encounters - which were admittedly pretty wild - he was a toad.

Carla was grateful to Rupert for one thing; the crazy business party he had thrown five years ago. She had met a quiet man with connections in the drug trade, and she discovered her path to wealth. All of the income potential she could want, without the baggage of a man to serve. It hadn't taken long for the money to start rolling in. One hundred thousand a month became a million, then two million, then four. It blew the mind.

Rupert knew nothing about her side business; about the nearly one hundred fifty million dollars she had stashed away in the islands. But he knew about the trips to Miami, and the cocaine she scored for his parties. It was peanuts compared to the main business, but he would talk when pressed by authorities. He also talked in bed - she knew that firsthand - which is why Jennifer had to go.

Carla walked to the front door and rang the bell.

She had left the office, telling William she was taking an extended lunch and might not be back until three. "Be careful out there," William had said as she walked by, "we've already lost two good people in a week, we can't afford anymore." William was soft, too. Keep counting, William, she thought as she feigned sorrow and patted his hand before leaving. It was just a few minutes to Rupert's place, then the meeting with Esposo. Two people. Two guns. Two bodies. One big problem solved.

Rupert opened the door and he looked as pathetic as she imagined he would. He had this coming and there was no need to beat around the bush, no need for small talk, and no need to come on to him. Disheveled, unkept, he was pretty much an unmade bed, and he had been drinking. "Hey Carla, come in. You heard about Jen?"

"Yes, of course I did. I was in the office on Wednesday when the police were there. It's terrible. This world has gone crazy, Rupe," for some ridiculous reason, he loved it when she called him 'Rupe'. Jennifer probably did that, which made her angrier.

He moved through the front entrance to the living room, a slight stagger to his walk. Carla opened her purse as he sat down on the couch, sloshing some of his drink on his hand. It looked like at least a double. This was going to be easier than she thought.

"The police thought I had something to do with it. Can you believe it? They arrested me and dragged me downtown and everything!" Mitchell was exaggerating his motions. Clearly, he'd had more than enough. "I loved Jen! Why did she have to marry that guy? I could have given her everything!" He looked at Carla, not realizing he was doing so for the last time. "She was mine, I tell you, mine. Who would want her dead, Carla? Who?" He was starting to cry.

Carla slowly walked behind the sofa while Rupert continued blubbering to no one. Her right hand went into the purse and took hold of a snub-nosed pistol with a four-inch silencer.

"Everyone loved her, Carla. Everyone! I loved her. What am I going to do now that she's gone?"

"Why don't you join her?" Carla answered, pulling out the gun, placing the silencer to his right temple, and pulling the trigger in one smooth motion. The muted spit was followed by the sound of a glass breaking on the tile floor. Carla removed the silencer and put it in her purse, then wiped the gun down and wrapped the fingers of Mitchell's right hand around it. Then she put his hand up to his head with the gun and let it fall, to better simulate the act of suicide. She turned and, without a backward glance, left the house and drove away.

* * *

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm tired and I hurt," Rita responded, "and I'm thirsty and I still can't feel my stomach to know if I'm hungry."

Chris looked at her and smiled, lightly running his hand through her hair. It was still matted and caked with dried blood, and he shuddered to think what would happen if she actually looked in a mirror. She would be aghast at the reflection!

The anesthesia from surgery was wearing off and the pain was coming. It was a little after three in the afternoon and Chris had returned, having been gone since noon. Rita had been awake on and off - mostly off - and the surgeon had been in to visit her and check the bandages. She had tried to lift her head up, but her chest was sore. She remembered being kicked, which probably explained that, but much of what had happened to her was fuzzy. Frannie had been excellent company, saying little and letting her sleep, but always ready to serve.

She was more awake now and Chris was back. She needed to talk before the next dose of meds knocked her down again.

"I'm afraid they're not going to let you eat for a while," Chris said. "The nurses say they're feeding you through the IV, but that probably isn't the same as food on a plate."

"Will you tell me about last night?"

"Are you sure you want to talk about that right now? You just need to focus on reco..."

"Tell me what happened, Christopher."

Chris looked back at the door and then looked down. "Alright, but you're not going to like it. And you're going to have to talk, too. Fill in the gaps for me."

"First, I must look like a wreck," Rita said. "Do I look pretty bad, Chris? Be honest. Frannie just hushes me when I ask. I want the truth."

"Rita," Chris said, "you look absolutely terrible, the worst I've ever seen you look. But you couldn't be more beautiful than you are right now. I mean that. And the 'terrible' part is going to be fixed in no time, and then you'll just be plain-old beautiful again."

They talked through the attack. She told all she could remember of what happened before he arrived. He filled in the rest and it was painful all over again - for both of them. The wicked Castellana, the gunfire, the knife, his bloody death, and the frantic fight to keep her alive. Chris would not discuss her injuries - the doctor wanted to do that first - but the chaplain had been right. As he talked, he could feel the fury building inside. The tears were starting to come again, but they were tears of rage.

When he finished, Rita motioned Chris to her. He leaned down and she kissed his cheek, "Thank you for saving my life. There's no way I can ever repay you."

"You already have repaid me by surviving. Just promise you'll do the same for me if the roles are ever reversed," he said through his tears. He continued, "So, Castellana killed Jennifer Schmidt as well. That takes Mitchell off the hook for murder, and hopefully we have enough leverage with the coke to get more from him. But the big news is we got the guy that Castellana reported to. Remember Raul Esposo, the gardener? He's the guy. We caught him loaded with cash as he was preparing to leave town. And guess what? He had a great big pistol. If it's a fifty, I wonder which murder that's going to solve? He lawyered up right away, but George has big-time leverage on him."

"Chris, I'm sorry, but I need something for the pain."

It was a spontaneous decision that he hoped he wouldn't regret, but he reached over and pushed the button for the nurse while simultaneously bending down and very lightly kissing her - on the lips. "I hope that helps a little," he said, instantly worried about the move.

"Oh sure, plant one on the helpless girl who can't defend herself," she said with a smile. "I'll let it slide this one time, because it did help a little...but mostly because with one eye covered I probably look like a pirate wench, and I know how much they turn you on." Chris laughed and took a deep, relieved breath. Her sense of humor was back, a great sign.

The afternoon was merging with the dinner hour and Rita was under the control of the pain meds when George Donovan came to visit. Chris was sitting in the hall studying Matias' papers when he arrived, and George sat down beside him, setting down his jacket and briefcase.

"So I've been getting some third-hand reports at the office, but you can tell me first-hand. How is she?"

"Hi George. She's hanging in there, but Castellana messed her up. Her spirits are good right now, and most importantly, she isn't running a fever. You're welcome to go in and see her. The surgeon was in an hour ago to visit and gave her the injury report - it was pretty lengthy. Then she got pain medicine, so she might be asleep, but maybe not. I came here out for a bit so my rustling papers wouldn't bother her - and it's quiet out here."

George stood up and nodded in agreement, looking down the empty hall. "Yeah, I'll go in for a couple of minutes, but we need to talk before I leave."

* * *

Carla Garcia sat quietly, working out her next move. After dealing with Rupert Mitchell, she had gone on to Trinity Park to wait for Raul. It was a small park, but it was just a short distance from Mitchell's place, which gave her plenty of time to get positioned before he arrived. The thunderstorm had been perfect - people never visited parks in the rain and lightning, and there was a small copse of trees in the middle, also perfect. She would deal with Esposo the same way she had Mitchell. He would walk up expecting a discussion, but there would be none. Just pull the pistol, dispatch the man, and move on to the final errand.

But Esposo didn't show. He said he would be there in sixty, which mean one thirty, and he was usually on time and never more than five minutes late. After twenty minutes passed, she knew he wasn't coming. She had tried calling him, but there was no answer. Raul Esposo was no Rupert Mitchell. He had a head on his shoulders and probably guessed how this was going to go. No matter - she had a network of people. They were everywhere. Once her final job was complete, she would put the word out and Esposo would be found and dealt with. She hadn't pulled the trigger, but Raul was already as good as dead.

She had left the park and driven twenty minutes to her final destination - Good Samaritan Medical Center. The easiest place to penetrate in the world was a hospital. Security was terrible in hospitals, but there would be some kind of security around her target. Rita Lance was a cop, so most of the people visiting would be cops - instant security. She knew she couldn't just walk up to the information desk and ask for directions to Rita Lance's room so she could kill her. Instead, she would do the next best thing. She would let the hospital tell her on its own.

She sat down by the main entrance with other folks, within earshot of the main desk, pulled out a small notebook and began to write. Every time someone mentioned a name or a room number, or stopped at the desk and asked about someone, Carla wrote the name down and the room number. These might help her later. It was an incredible stroke of fortune when, after about an hour, she watched Chris Lorenzo walk through the hospital doors. Miracles still happened.

He was a vision, and she had wanted him - for business and for pleasure. The pleasure would have been easy to get - no man could resist her. The business may have taken more convincing, but she had been working on a plan for that. She wanted a replacement for Esposo, who had been getting a bit sloppy. Careless people were very dangerous in her line of work - it was time to upgrade. Lorenzo was the upgrade - until he and Rita found the vault. Now there was no way to ease him into the trade. She sighed at the loss she had suffered. Now Sergeant Lorenzo would suffer the ultimate loss. Sergeant Lance was going to die.

Chris had not stopped at the desk - he had no need because he knew exactly where Rita was. He had not seen her sitting there, and even if he had looked her way, he would not recognize her. She got up and followed him to the elevator, staying fifteen or twenty feet back, where he stopped and waited. Carla continued to approach and then turned down the hall, but not before looking to see the floor number he had pushed. She continued walking for two minutes, before stopping at a drinking fountain, reversing, and walking back to the elevator. Lorenzo was gone, as she hoped, so she walked up to the doors and looked at the floor guide - ICU. Lance was in ICU.

This meant two things. First, Rita had been injured badly by the hit man. Second, one couldn't just walk into ICU without knowing the name of someone to visit. This might be tricky. She moved away from the elevator and waited out of the way, remaining as inconspicuous as possible, meandering in no regular or predictable pattern. When visitors walked up to the elevator and pushed the floor number for ICU, she walked over and by them, listening intently as she did. In the space of ninety minutes, she had written down four first names, six last names, and one complete name - a Roger Morris, who was in his sixties, suffered a heart attack on Wednesday, and had just undergone bypass surgery. If all went well, he would be out of ICU tomorrow or Sunday. If all went well, Rita Lance would be a corpse on a slab by then, too.

The elevator doors opened and Carla walked to the ICU desk, introduced herself as Frona Peterson, who had worked with Mr. Morris for nearly twenty years, and couldn't believe he had nearly died. Could she pop in for a few minutes and just see him? The nurse at the desk pointed to the right and told her down to the end of the hall, take a left, and then two doors. Hospitals were like sieves.

Carla turned left and nearly gasped as a burst of adrenaline surged through her. Forty feet away sat Chris Lorenzo, looking down at some papers. It couldn't have been this easy! She looked for the nearest bench and sat down as quietly as possible. There wasn't much time until the desk nurse might begin to wonder. She decided fifteen minutes max before she left.

* * *

George was gone about ten minutes, and Chris went back to the papers. He had planned to work more on these, but when the Captain told him about the discovery of Esposo earlier that morning, Chris absolutely had to be part of the attempt to take him in. It was a very simple plan involving an overwhelming force with flak jackets and big guns. Fifteen officers arrived at his home and were ready to swarm the place when, wonder of wonders!, he walked out the door and right into their arms. Fewer arrests had gone more easily and there was no thought of a fight. Esposo had simply smiled, set his bags down, and touched his forehead in a simple salute of respect.

Chris had ridden downtown with the Captain, but hadn't stayed there. His place was with Rita and there were others serving and protecting who could deal with Raul every bit as well as he.

Earlier that morning, Chris had come across a paper with what looked like a house floorplan. There was a circle that caught his eye, but then Rita woke up and his focus had switched. With everything else, he had forgotten it. He discovered it again leafing through the folder and studied it more closely. It took just a minute to figure out that it was the floor plan of Matias' Middle-Road estate. There was a red circle drawn at the back of the house. He looked up, trying to think - why would Matias have circled that spot? There was nothing there and the vault he and Rita found was on the south side of the house, so the left side of the floor plan.

He looked at the next paper in the stack. It was a purchase order form from an outdoor patio company, detailing the purchase of outdoor light and sound equipment, as well as the install of the pool. Chris whistled at the bottom line - one hundred seventy-nine thousand dollars. The company phone number was circled, also in red ink - maybe at the same time the floor plan circle was made.

He stood up to stretch and think for a moment. He was alone in the hall, except for an older woman sitting quietly on a bench four doors down, her cane propped against the wall. She appeared to be praying, so she must have visited the chaplain as well. He paced a bit, then on a whim, pulled out his phone and dialed the number on the purchase order.

Chris looked at the clock - 4:55pm - hopefully they didn't close early. When there was an answer, he asked if they were about to close. Nope, came the response, we stay open until seven on Fridays.

"Excellent!" Chris replied, relieved. He introduced himself and explained he was calling about work done for Matias Garcia as part of an investigation.

"Yeah, I know of him. Good customer. How can I help you?"

Chris thought for a moment, "Has he spoken to you recently? Say, in the last two weeks?"

"Customer service is a big deal here, as you might guess with the types of clients we have, so we're required to make notes of every interaction we have. Tedious as all get-out, because we don't have that stuff computerized yet, but it makes a huge difference in satisfaction. Let me find his file, it might take a couple minutes...be right back."

Chris waited and watched George walk out of Rita's room, shaking his head. He walked over and Chris whispered, "I'm checking something out, you have a couple minutes?" Donovan nodded, sat down, and glanced at Chris' papers just as the person on the phone returned.

"K, I've got his file right here. Whoa! Yeah, we did a lot of work for him. I recall some of this now. He bought a big place on Middle Road right after it was built, but wanted to do his own backyard layout. Patio, pool, eating area, sound enforcement, the whole nine yards. He called us and we did the work. At the time, it was one of our largest projects. Since then, we've branched out to do more landscaping, and we've worked on his front yard as well." There was a pause. "Yeah, he's spent a bundle with us. But that doesn't help you. Let's see..."

"Here we go, dated January thirteenth, so a couple weeks ago. There's a small hand-written note here. Let me read it to you. ' _Matias asked about function of switch on column. Didn't know about it. Researched. Returned call 14th, told him no record of that in item lists._ ' That's the note. I'm guessing he had another company do some work - I think I should feel upset by that, but considering all the money he gave us, I'm cool," he added with a chuckle.

"Thanks! That's incredibly helpful." Chris hung up and turned to George. "It looks Matias may be clean after all."

"Chris, I'm glad you blew Castellana's head off," George said. "What he did to Rita..."

"Yeah, it's awful. She's very fortunate. What do you have?"

"Chris, Esposo isn't the ring-leader. He's fingering Carla Garcia, Matias' ex-wife."

Chris' eyes went wide in surprise. "Wow, that's not what I figured. How did you work him?"

"What? Don't you think I'm capable of conduc..."

"George, I think you do a great job," Chris said, putting his arm on George's shoulder, "I just wanted to know the flow of the conversation."

"Well, the gun he had was a fifty as you suspected, so that gave me pretty good leverage. Ballistics won't be back on it until maybe tonight, tomorrow for sure, but I told him and his lawyer that if it matched with the bullets that killed Garcia, it was over for him. I pulled no punches. Murder One for Garcia, conspiracy to commit murder for Schmidt, conspiracy to commit murder on two police officers for you and Lance, and we haven't even touched the drug stuff. All that translates to 'Murder with Special Circumstances' - and the Chair. And I told him to prepare to fry and walked out to let them stew a bit."

"Wow, you didn't mince words."

"Nope. Ten minutes later they called me back and started working the angles, even though there were none. I told him the very best he could hope for was multiple consecutive life sentences, no parole ever - and I didn't promise that, either. A jury may want this guy dead, especially when I show them photos of a certain female officer that's very dear to us."

"And..."

"He rolled on Carla. Apparently, she built a mini-cartel of her own. Millions of dollars of product coming in per month. He talked about the drop-vault at Matias' home. He said she had it installed at his place one week when they were married and on a ski trip in New Mexico. Another one at Mitchell's place, who we brought in Wednesday. She set up a half-dozen of these places at homes, and the owners don't have a clue. Then somehow, she gets her people hired as gardeners, caretakers, housekeepers, you name it. The drugs are stored there and transferred out. It's nuts! Esposo is the coordinator. He said after the hits on you and Lance were botched, his number was up, so he was getting out. If you all had arrived fifteen minutes later, he would have been gone - South America somewhere."

Chris was stunned and ran his hands through his hair. "So why Rita? Did you get anything?"

"He said that was Carla's idea. Apparently when you interviewed her, she took a liking to you, assumed - and I'm embarrassed to say this - assumed you and Rita were more than just work partners, and wanted her eliminated. It's incredible, Chris. Esposo said she was making millions a month and decided to risk it all to take down an officer - for no reason at all. You were added to her hit list simply because you were with Rita the night she was supposed to...well...be killed. Captain Lipschitz has a group of officers heading to her place to stake it out and take her down if she's there. Get a hold of him and he'll give you the info."

George looked at his watch. "I need to go, but I'd like to try and come back a little later if that's alright. Last night's dinner was a disaster and Andrea and I are fighting again. I get to go home and take it on the chin one more time. Hopefully you'll see me later."

Chris patted George's back and told him to hang in there, and he would see him later. He watched George walk down the hallway and turn the corner. Chris was by himself again and alone in the hallway.

Harry called around six and they talked for quite a while. Chris was down in the cafeteria getting a sandwich and a soda to take back up. The Cap told him Carla had not returned home, but officers were waiting in unmarked cars in shifts and wouldn't leave. An All-Points was also out, which meant authorities in the airport and marinas were keeping an eye out as well. Chris told him Matias appeared to be clear of the trafficking and explained the documents he found and the phone call to the landscaping company.

"This is why the Feds are jealous of me," Harry said with a laugh. "I've got detectives like you and Lance to do their work for them. Look, Frannie and I were thinking about stopping up before visiting hours are over. You think that's alright?"

"Cap, I think Rita would love it. She was awake a little when George was here, but that was more than an hour ago. I'm grabbing something to eat and will be back up there in five minutes. She should be awake after a bit here. Visiting hours are until nine and there's nobody here."

"Chris, you watch yourself and Rita. Donovan said the woman's crazy."

* * *

Carla was almost shaking with anticipation. She had been sitting on the bench no more than five minutes watching Lorenzo when a man came out of a room and started talking to him. It was unbelievable! She had found Rita Lance - now it was time to go. She walked out of the hospital and to her car to wait. Visiting hours were over at nine, and she was positive Lorenzo would stay until then. No way he would leave the girlfriend.

Carla would probably have to kill them both, but the element of surprise would be her weapon, along with the silenced semi-automatic she had in her purse. They would not recognize her when she opened the door and walked in the room. And Lance wouldn't have a gun - just Lorenzo. So there was just one shooter to deal with as she repeated the sequence she had created. Open door, scan room, spit spit - Lorenzo down. Take a moment and figure out the most meaningful way to kill her. Look her in the eyes, maybe a spit to that pretty face. Another spit to the breast and through her heart. A third spit for surety - Lance down. One more spit for Lorenzo to be sure. Twenty seconds. Mag out, reload in, just in case there was a complication. Out the door. Gone.

She looked at her watch - 7:45pm. Forty-five minutes to show time.

* * *

Harry, Fran, and Chris all sat with Rita and visited. Frannie held Rita's hand, talked about the mini-vacation she and Harry were planning, about the flowers she was trying to grow in her new planters - one never wanted for conversation with Frannie Lipschitz - and that she really liked this hospital, the nurses were so kind and helpful, and maybe she'd see if they needed any volunteers to help out. The nurse had checked in and frowned when she saw so many people in the room at once, but hadn't said anything, knowing they would have to clear out before too long.

* * *

Carla looked at the clock on the hospital's lobby wall - 8:15pm. She opened her purse and double-checked the layout. Pistol, ten rounds, one already chambered. Second magazine, ten rounds right below the weapon. Pull the weapon with the right hand, extra clip with the left, enter the room...everything was muscle memory and clear thought. She closed the purse and wouldn't open it again until it was time.

* * *

Rita felt a little better. She had been allowed a couple sips of water, the pain was being controlled, and most importantly, her body temperature was holding at an even ninety-nine-point-one...perfect. While Franny talked the walls into submission with Rita, Harry had spoken with Chris quietly.

"Uh, Chris, I can't thank you enough for what you did for your partner. Frannie and I, well, we think a lot of you both, and Fran just loves Rita. So do I, frankly. She's great. I was thinking earlier today, so I put in for you to have an extra week's paid vacation. If they approve it – and they should - when this all settles down and Rita is recovered, I want you to take it. Get away, relax a little, get your mind off things. I put in for Rita as well. You both have earned it."

Chris didn't know what to say, but he would definitely take the time if it was allowed - when Rita was back on her feet and could resume work.

"One other thing, Chris. I've begun a write-up of last night's action as part of letter-of-recommendation for a commendation medal for you. No partner could want for a better protector and friend than you. I just wanted to tell you that."

* * *

Carla got up and walked to the elevators, then pushed the button for ICU - 8:25pm.

Frannie was still talking when Harry pulled her from the room. She had hugged Rita and Chris, telling them she would be back tomorrow if that was alright. Then there was silence. Rita actually laughed, "Wow, that lady has an endless supply of talk. How Harry hasn't gone insane..."

"Yeah, I think he likes her pretty good, but he might be partially crazy already." Chris looked at his watch - 8:27pm. "You know, I should let you rest. I've kept you up too long as it is."

The Captain and his wife got on the elevator, which had almost closed without them. A middle-aged woman had walked out, smiling kindly at them. As the door closed, they heard the woman introduce herself as Frona Peterson...

"Christopher, why don't you head home and get some sleep? You're probably exhausted and I'm not going anywhere. I'll still be here tomorrow."

"I think I'll stay one more night down in the lobby, Sam - don't worry, I'll be fine. But I really have to go to the bathroom, so I'll do that, then come back and say goodnight for good."

Carla walked down the hall, glancing at the clock - 8:30pm. Perfect. The left turn was all that remained, then the sixth door on the right. Carla opened her purse as she turned the corner...

Chris rounded the corner...and ran right into a woman coming the other way. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" he said as he grabbed her to keep her from falling down. "I wasn't even looking and should have been more careful. I'm really sorry!"

Carla Garcia brushed his arms and said, "That's quite alright, I was in a hurry to get to the room before closing and wasn't paying any attention." She looked at Christopher through her disguise with her bright blue eyes and dazzling smile. "You have a nice evening."

Chris continued toward the bathroom and took about five steps before he stopped dead. The eyes! That smile! He had seen them both before.

Carla walked passed the second room on the right - Mr. Morris' room. Lorenzo had bumped into her, actually almost knocked her down, then looked right at her, and had not recognized her. The disguise was perfect! Ok, he wouldn't be in the room, so things became a whole lot easier. She passed the fourth door, the right hand pulled the pistol and the left hand pulled the second clip.

Something wasn't right and Chris knew it. He had to see those eyes again, so he immediately turned around, drew his pistol for the second time in two days and re-rounded the corner. The woman was walking forty feet ahe...there!...in her hand, a gun!

Suddenly Chris understood and raised his weapon. There was no time; she was almost to Rita's door.

"Carla!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the hall. He saw the slight hesitation. She had recognized her own voice. It was all he needed to be sure.

Carla heard her name and paused for a split-second before regaining her control. She reached to push open the door.

Chris had recently switched firearms, transitioning from the standard-issue nine-millimeter pistol to the newly-available forty-caliber. He had first fired it in anger last night and he was pleased with the difference. A minimal increase in recoil, slightly slower muzzle velocity, but improved stopping power. He needed it now!

Chris fired twice, just like the night before, and a pair of 155-grain slugs left the chamber at nearly 1200 feet per second - almost 800 miles per hour. The shells covered the sixty feet and reached their target - Carla Garcia's body - in just a shade over five hundredths of a second, opening two holes in her back. One slug shattered her spine; the second blew a hole in her heart.

Carla Garcia fell to the ground, and Chris quickly walked toward her, his gun trained for any movement. There was none. The guard in Rita's room flew out the door, gun in hand, but Chris raised his hands with palms forward, gun visible. The guard paused as the alarms began wailing in the building, and then lowered his weapon. Chris did as well, moving Carla's pistol away from her corpse with his foot.

It was over.


	6. Epilogue

Friday - 3 weeks later

Rita sat in the wheelchair as the nurse pushed her toward the hospital exit. She was very grateful for everyone at Good Samaritan Medical and everything they had done for her, but she was ready to go home. Until now, her longest stay in a hospital had been two or three days. Three weeks seemed like a lifetime.

Her recovery had been remarkable. Her stomach wound was healing well, as were her intestines. The repairs Doctor Williams and his staff made that terrible night were working without complication. It had taken her five days to go to the bathroom, which made her very uncomfortable for a while, but all things considered, that was pretty good. Rita's eyes still showed a bit of black-and-blue tinge, and her left cheek was still bandaged after her second surgery, but that would be removed in another week. The cosmetic surgeon had also adjusted her nose a little.

The automatic doors opened and Chris was waiting for her. He helped her up - it was still a bit of a process - and she turned and hugged the nurse. She also hugged the chaplain, who had visited her several times and wanted to walk out with her, so happy was he to see her going home. Chris helped her slowly sit down in the passenger seat of her car. She looked out the window as he drove off and then turned to her partner and said a little wistfully, "I was hoping Cap would be there to see me go home. He and Fran spent a lot of time with me, and it's been fun to get to know them better."

"They knew you were getting released this afternoon, but Harry said Fran had somewhere to be this evening. You know how she is."

For his part, Chris had been up to see her every day at lunch and for brief periods each evening - he even stayed overnight in her room a few times. But there was still work to be done, so she spent her remaining hours separated from him. It was the hardest part of her convalescence - being unable to work with Chris. Happily, that prohibition was ending soon. Rita had one more week of mandatory rest at home, then a re-qualification on the range. After that, she had no restrictions except what her health and stamina would allow.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at her apartment. As Chris walked her to the door, she stopped him. "I'm a little nervous, Sam. The last time I was here, a man tried to gut me. I'm not sure I can do this."

"I think you can, but I wondered how you'd feel. I brought a change of clothes and could stay on the couch tonight. You know, ease you back into things. That is, if you're alright with it."

Rita smiled and gave him a hug. "I would like that. Thank you...for everything."

He opened the door and she walked through, turning on the light...

"Surprise!" came the yells from everywhere. Rita jumped in shock and then delight. There was Frannie, who had organized the party. All of their friends were there, the apartment had been completely cleaned after the attack, and Chris had kept the fish alive. There were snacks, drinks, lots of well wishes and congratulations.

At one point, someone yelled 'speech', and the call was picked up by others until Rita raised her hands for quiet.

"I'll keep it brief. Three weeks ago, I was over there on the floor with a knife in my belly. I should have died, but for the good work of the doctors, the thoughts and prayers and encouragement from all of you, and," she paused to walk over and put her arm around Chris, then looked at him with her beautiful eyes glistening, "the quick work and thinking of this man, who risked his own life to save mine. Thank you," she said, kissing his cheek and turning to everyone, "and thank you all!"

It wasn't a long, drawn-out party - Rita still tired quickly and hadn't reached full strength - but it was a night she wished would never end.


End file.
